


The Phoenix of Caerlon

by HarrisonHolmes2014



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dragons, Dwarves, F/M, Fantasy, Half-Human, Healing, I'm Sorry, Light Smut, Magic, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Warning: Fantasy Tropes/Cliches?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-03 16:58:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 39,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4108252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarrisonHolmes2014/pseuds/HarrisonHolmes2014
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The king of Caerlon is dying, and farmer's daughter Holly Phoenix is chosen to go on a mission to save him. Traveling with her are half-dragon Gwennyvirah Kearney, and Sage Langerfelt, former prince of Caerlon's enemy Locrea. In spite of the mistrust they have all been taught to feel for one another, the three find themselves growing closer for their own survival...especially Holly and Sage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Scrying Glass

**Author's Note:**

> I've never been much of a fantasy writer, but I wanted to share this one. Please feel free to leave comments and suggestions (but try and be kind... :) ).
> 
> MANY MONTHS LATER...
> 
> A friend of mine recently introduced me to Avatar: The Last Airbender (OMG IT WAS AMAZING GO WATCH IT). I have no memory at all of ever watching it as a child/teenager, and yet...let me just say Prince Zuko seemed weirdly familiar. So, because I like giving credit where credit is due for my inspirations, this story is partially inspired by Avatar: The Last Airbender, which has apparently been living in my subconscious for many years now. Kudos to all the writers, animators, musicians, etc. who worked on it!

The night envelops Caerlon in its arms. The entire country is sleeping, the cattle in the numerous farms lowing softly. Light winds from the savanna sweep across the drought-stricken land, whipping up small clouds of dust. All is relatively peaceful.

This night, however, holds no rest for Elder, Caerlon’s supreme healer and head advisor to King Dianthus. He is moving swiftly through the palace, his robes rustling softly. Suits of armor glint in shafts of moonlight through the graceful arched windows, and his footsteps make no sound on the fine rugs covering the stone floor. He frowns as he moves down the halls.

The king fell mysteriously ill a week earlier and nothing, not even Elder’s strongest herb treatments, has cured his sickness. Because King Dianthus has no heir, the situation is dire. If the king dies, the whole of Caerlon will be thrown into turmoil. Tonight, after giving King Dianthus his nightly fever-alleviating treatment, Elder will consult his scrying glass for advice on what to do next. His knotted, veined hands tremble slightly and he sweats as he caresses the brightly polished mirror in his arms.

Elder sweeps down several long corridors. The open doors reveal the inner state of the palace. Sheets and blankets spill over the sides of beds, and he can see a clear inch of dust covering the tables. Quietly, he eases the door to the king’s chambers open.

A dying fire casts a flickering light over the room. The various creatures on the wall hangings – centaurs and dragons, unicorns and lions – seem to move in the semidarkness. Elder quietly takes his place beside King Dianthus’ bed. The king is having one of the strange illness’ fits: his face is red with fever and he mutters long strings of nonsense, oblivious to Elder’s presence. The wizard gently sweeps the gray-tinged black hair away from his ruler’s sweaty brow and wipes away a bit of spittle in the goatee. He forces a potion of mallowsweet and honey down the king’s throat.

King Dianthus quiets a little, and slowly he drifts into a light sleep. Taking advantage of the king’s relative peace, Elder seats himself at a small table by the fire and lays his scrying glass on top of it. Carefully, respectfully, he opens a small drawstring pouch containing the herbs necessary to prepare the glass.

“Snapdragon, to aid clairvoyance,” Elder whispers, rubbing the juice of a few stems into the shining surface. Immediately it glows red.

“Rosemary, for clarity of thought.” He strokes the glass with a rosemary sprig and it now glows green.

“And finally, lily, to demonstrate my humility in the magical arts,” he finishes. As soon as the petals’ juice has sunk into the scrying glass, it glows as silver as the moon. Tentatively, he feels the glass. It makes a soft sizzling noise at his touch and the very air seems to quiver with the glass’ power. It is ready.

Elder places his long hands on the table on either side of the glass. He examines his own reflection in its surface for a moment: his white hair and beard flow smoothly around his lined face, accentuating the dark shadows under his eyes that come from lack of sleep in the past week. How has he suddenly become so old?

With great effort, he focuses his mind on the question he has. “O great spirits whose powers exceed mine,” he whispers to the scrying glass, “is there anything I can do to assist the king?”

Immediately the glass glows with a brilliant white light. Narrowing his eyes, Elder bends over the glass. The first image it yields is a large bush, nestled between two high mountains. It looks exactly like a rosemary bush, but its leaves are pure white instead of dark green. He instantly recognizes ice rosemary, a rare herb that only grows in the northernmost reaches of Locrea. He feels his lip curl as the distant echoes of war long past reach his ears.

The scrying glass glows again and then reveals a second image. He sees a large group of adolescents, all crowded together in the coliseum outside Ramani, the capital. He also sees himself in the stands of the crowd, addressing the children. _“You will be tested in various types of weapons,” _he says,_ “and those of you who make it through all levels will face a test of courage.”_

The glass glows once more, so brightly that it nearly blinds Elder. Through the light, he can see three shadowy figures advancing from the crowd of children. He cannot see their faces, nor can he divine if they are male or female. Strange, monstrous blurs seem to emanate from the back and hands of one of the three shapes. What he can see are the shining bundles of ice rosemary each figure carries in its arms. He also perceives that the middle figure wears a crown. Its pure, brilliant white light is a stark contrast to the shadowy shapes. The image quivers before his eyes for a moment, and then it fades as the scrying glass goes dark.

Elder leans back from the glass and runs a hand through his hair. As he pulls his hand away, he sees that a few strands of white hair are falling out easily. According to the glass, three teenagers must be chosen to retrieve the ice rosemary from Locrea. Those three would be selected by means of a competition. Finally, the glass showed him the reward for the children: one of them will be named heir to King Dianthus’ throne.

Elder sighs. This is not going to be an easy process. Firstly, the agreement the Caerlonians and Locreans made when the original nomadic clan split up so many centuries ago states that members of each country are forbidden to cross the borders. Second, it is a long journey from Caerlon to Locrea. The two countries lie on opposite sides of the continent, and to simply get from one end to the other takes a very long time. And the travel time is without counting all of the dangers between them! Only he and a few others returned alive from the sole known journey from one country to the other, when a series of deadly power clashes between elite members of the clan forced the split.

He knows that the only way parents will send their children to the competition to be tested for it is under pain of death. This ordeal will not endear him to the people. But what choice does he have? It is either send three children on the mission or allow King Dianthus to die without an heir. He has to do what is best for Caerlon.

If only there could be a kinder way.


	2. Elder's Proclamation

I spur my family’s mare Mallowsweet furiously toward the Phoenix home on the outskirts of Ramani. My long black hair streams out behind me like a banner. Snarls and tangles dance on the breeze, but I don’t pay them any attention. There are more pressing matters on my mind than my hair, not the least of which is the proclamation from the great wizard Elder. I saw it this morning while selling my drawings in the square. A thrill of terror goes through me as I recall what will happen, what’s required of me and my peers…

We skid to a halt in the front yard of the farm, my family crest necklace swinging wildly: a bronze phoenix rising from the flames. Even though we’re just farmers, we’re entitled to a crest like all the other families in Caerlon. Three cows graze peacefully in a neat stone pen nearby, and they ignore my noisy arrival. I leap out of my saddle and tie Mallowsweet to the hitching post outside our modest house. Just as I walk toward the door my four-year-old brother, Valerian, comes running out to me. My other younger brother Hardock, who is eleven, scrambles down from the ladder in front of our door, where he had been repainting our crest. I hug both of my brothers, but the hug is absentminded. Slowly, I move into the house with them.

Our farmhouse has five rooms. There’s a combined sitting room and kitchen, a bedroom for my parents, two larger rooms where we six children sleep and one bathroom. We’re lucky to have a bathroom inside our house. Most lower-middle class families have outhouses or chamber pots. You can see our vegetable garden and cornfield through the kitchen window.

My mother Ginger stands at the wood stove by the back door, stirring a pot of corn-and-onion chili. The light from the window catches the most precious item she owns: a bronze bracelet around her left wrist, studded with black onyx, with a bronze phoenix charm dangling from it. It’s her marriage band, the piece of jewelry that newlyweds give each other on the day they marry. Each pair of bracelets is unique to the couple and has the family crest, designed by the bride and groom, attached to it. My parents chose bronze and black onyx because that was the cheapest combination, and they just paid off the last debts three years ago. Although we’re merchant-farmers and are better off than most of the people in our area, we’re not exactly rich.

“Hello, Holly,” Mother says warmly.

“Hello, Mother,” I reply. “Where are Father and the girls? I have something the whole family needs to hear.”

“They’re out in the field,” Mother says. “If you and the boys will set the table for dinner, I’ll call them.”

Soon enough, the rest of my family enters the kitchen. My father Barley comes in first, a satchel of corn slung over his broad shoulders. He’s wearing his marriage band too, one identical to Mother’s. My three younger sisters follow him, two of them carrying small baskets of lettuce, carrots, potatoes and celery: Daisy, who’s nine, and Willow, who’s six. Rose, thirteen, carries a pail of milk from one of our cows. All of them wear bronze family crest necklaces just like mine.

We convene at the table. “Did you sell any drawings, Holly?” Willow asks eagerly.

“One of the cows, one of last night’s dinner and two of sunrises over the cornfield,” I say, throwing a leather pouch full of my earnings onto the table. “But I’ve got more important news.”

“What is it, dear?” Father asks, his green eyes kind and concerned. Everyone I know tells me that I have his eyes.

I close them and take a deep breath before answering. “Elder’s made a proclamation,” I say. “In two days, all children between the ages of thirteen and nineteen must report to the coliseum for a competition.”

When I open my eyes, I see that their eyes are wide. Willow and Valerian’s mouths hang open. My eyes lock with Rose’s, and a silent communication takes place between us. At eighteen and thirteen, we’re both eligible for this contest.

“Whatever for?” asks Mother.

“I don’t know exactly what,” I say. “The proclamation just said three people would be chosen for a mission in the name of King Dianthus.”

“Isn’t there a way for you to get out of it?” pipes up Daisy. There’s fear in her bright brown eyes.

“No,” I say flatly, addressing my parents. “Every child between thirteen and nineteen has to come, or their families will be under pain of death.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Rose says soothingly to Daisy. But Rose’s face is slightly pale.

Mother stands suddenly. “Well,” she says, her voice shaking. “We’ll all have to make a trip to the coliseum, then, so that Holly and Rose can be in this competition.”

She returns to the chili, and I know she wants to hide her worry from the little ones. I stand and take up bowls and spoons, all the while wondering what the competition will hold for Rose and me.


	3. The Holding Room

Two days after Elder’s proclamation, we rise before the sun and set off for the coliseum. Rose and I stay silent for most of the long ride. We’re too absorbed in wonderings about the mysterious competition to talk. Even Willow and Valerian, who are too young to understand what’s happening, are much more serious and quiet than usual.

We reach the brick path leading from Ramani to the coliseum and steer our cart, pulled by Mallowsweet, onto it. I instantly see that we aren’t the only family group attending the competition. Small clusters of people travel together, and many children give away their ages through their anxious faces. I can easily recognize the rich families by their jewel-studded saddles and bridles, or their brightly painted carriages with silk curtains embroidered with their crests. The poorest folk, wearing shabby dresses and tunics, surround the wealthy riders, traveling on foot or on old donkeys and horses. In the back of my mind, I perceive that this is the first time I’ve ever seen rich and poor mingling this closely in Caerlon.

Slowly, the crowd moves up the hill shielding the coliseum from view. I can hear breath, animal and human, growing heavier as we climb. Finally, we reach the top, and Valerian and Willow gasp softly.

The coliseum shines golden in the rising sun’s light. Caerlon’s flag, two red dragons entwined around a sword on a yellow background, hangs above the main entrance, fluttering in the breeze. As we draw closer, I see the rare pink marble swirled in with the white. For the first time, I think that the pink swirls look like watered-down blood. I shiver but my family, too worried to pay attention to their surroundings, notices nothing.

We stop outside the main door of the coliseum. A young man in uniform, the Caerlonian emblem on his left breast, strides up to our cart. His black eyes rove over Mother and Father, take in the four younger children and finally stop on Rose and me, looking at our crests. “Holly and Rose Phoenix?” he says in a bored voice. The list of names he’s holding trails in the sand.

I sit up straighter. To my left, Rose does the same. “Yes,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t announce my fear.

The young guard nods. “Please enter the coliseum through the first door to the left of this main entrance,” he instructs. “Family members enter through the main door and take your seats in the coliseum. Chicory and Eranda will take your cart.”

We all get out of the cart, and two stable-hands race forward and lead Mallowsweet away. Before going in, the rest of the family faces Rose and me. “We’ll see you two after the competition,” says Father, avoiding our gazes as he holds us both close.

“Good luck!” squeals Valerian, wrapping his small arms around me. I try to smile, but my face muscles don’t want to work. Rose and I stand side by side as our family enters the coliseum, shooting worried glances over their shoulders as they leave.

I look after them for a moment, and then I steel myself. Now isn’t the time for sentimentality or heartsickness. I touch Rose’s shoulder. “Come on,” I murmur.

We round the side of the coliseum until we find the door the guard mentioned. A second guard in the same uniform gazes evenly at us before opening the door. “Just follow the corridor until it ends,” he tells us. “You will see the other competitors waiting there.”

I look at him shyly. Is that a hint of pity in his eyes? Before I can decide what I’m seeing, Rose and I are walking down a long, torch-lit corridor. At the end of the corridor, we find a wooden door. I hold it open for Rose.

We’re in a very big room with no windows. All around the room sit other children our age. Some of them lean against the walls, looking bored. Others sit with their arms wrapped around their knees, looking downright terrified. The anxiety and fear in this room are so strong that they hang over all of us like smoke.

Rose and I sit in the center of the room, avoiding everyone’s eyes. As soon as we get comfortable, the door opens again and a boy is thrust into the room by a pair of gruff guards. Curious glances follow him as he stumbles across the room, but he makes eye contact with no one and only stops moving when he reaches a far corner. Once there, he leans against the wall and stares at the floor.

I glance curiously at this newcomer. His hair is thick and black, and it’s cut in the style typical for male servants: bangs and reaching a few inches above the ears. The eyes peering out from under the hair are a warm brown, darker than chocolate melting on a summer day. He’s a little taller than me, and his face is thin and fine-boned, almost feminine. He wears a red satin tunic held together by strings at the neck and flowing, black satin pants, indicating a member of the upper class. He’s wearing a family crest necklace too, one made of gold, an eagle clutching a hammer and wand in its claws: the crest of the royal family of Locrea.

As I watch the boy, he turns his head so I can see the right side of his face. I can’t help letting out a gasp of horror. Carved into his cheek are two sword marks, forming a large “X.” Having the Mark of the Traitor cut into your face is the standard punishment, in both Caerlon and Locrea I assume, for committing a crime against your country. I also notice for the first time that there are shackles around the boy’s wrists. I wonder what he did in order to be marked a traitor. I watch him for a while, wary of him and yet strangely drawn to him. There’s something about him, an indefinable something that is mysterious and incredibly attractive.

I don’t have much time to dwell on this, however. The door on the opposite side of the holding room flies open, and the cheers of an immense crowd rush in from the coliseum. I stand, taking Rose’s hand, and say, “Come on. Time to go.”


	4. In The Coliseum

The crowd of competitors slowly floods out into the middle of Ramani’s coliseum, sending puffs of golden sand into the air. I hold my free hand above my face to shield my eyes from the blinding sunlight. All around the coliseum, people scream and applaud, making the marble walls vibrate. The competitors are all nervously crowded together in the center of the coliseum. I don’t let go of Rose’s hand as we move with the crowd.

Elder stands behind a podium just above the main door of the coliseum. The audience instantly quiets as the old wizard speaks.

“People of Caerlon,” he shouts in a magically amplified voice, “welcome to today’s competition! All of you, competitors and audience members alike, are surely wondering why I have summoned you here.”

“Too right we are,” I hear Rose mutter.

“As you all know, our King Dianthus has fallen ill,” Elder continues solemnly. “I have tried every healing technique that I know, yet nothing has worked.

“With the assistance of my scrying glass, I have discovered an answer,” he proclaims. “Three must be chosen to go on a mission that will help heal the king. But before the three champions are selected, they must prove themselves capable of undertaking this mission.

“There will be a series of tasks that each competitor must complete. If a competitor fails to complete a task successfully, he or she will be asked to return to their families in the audience. The three who make it through every task without mistakes shall be the ones to go on the mission.

“Now,” he thunders, clapping his hands, “will those competitors who are thirteen years of age please remain here? All older ones, return to the holding room. The fourteen-year-olds will be notified when it is time for them to be tested. Good luck to you all.”

I hug Rose. There’s a hard knot of worry in my stomach, and I don’t look in her frightened eyes. “I’ll see you later,” I murmur, and she nods mutely. Her face is white. The older children all go back to the holding room, leaving a crowd of terrified thirteen-year-olds behind.

As soon as the last person enters the holding room, the door closes, shutting out all outside noise. I sit in my original seat and wrap my arms around my knees. We all wait in silence. To keep my mind occupied, I pick up a small brown pebble nearby and doodle on the stone floor.

The thirteen-year-olds don’t take long to examine. The door flies open again within fifteen minutes, and Elder summons the fourteen-year-olds. Slowly, the group files out of the holding room, leaving it much emptier than before. None of the thirteen-year-olds return to the room, so I assume that none of them succeeded at every task.

More to keep myself from thinking about what’ll happen when my turn comes than anything, I look around the holding room again. This time, I notice a person I didn’t see earlier. Well…is this teenager a person? She has a human body and facial shape, and her blond hair swirls down to her waist. Her skin is very pale, unmarked by pimples or scars. But she also has leathery green wings, the color of emeralds and trimmed with gold, sprouting from her shoulder blades. Instead of fingernails, ten curved claws hang from her hands. She’s not wearing a family crest necklace.

For a long moment, I stare at this creature. She must sense my eyes on her, for she turns and looks right at me. Her eyes are brilliant yellow with catlike slits for pupils. Obviously this girl is part dragon, a half-breed. I feel a shiver of dislike in my stomach and look away from her.

Finally, after the seventeen-year-olds have their turn in the coliseum, the door to the holding room flies open once more. “Eighteen-year-olds please enter!” Elder’s voice thunders over the roar of the crowd. As I stand, I notice dimly that I’m shaking. I square my shoulders and leave the holding room with the other eighteen-year-olds, including the half-breed girl.

We all stop in the center of the coliseum. I look around at the vast crowd, and I can just barely see my family high up in the stands. A great wave of relief sweeps over me: Rose is with them, and she looks okay. As far as I can see, no one has been deemed worthy of this mysterious mission.

Elder raises his hands for silence. “We shall test you in alphabetical order of your first names,” he addresses us. “First up will be Absinthe Milgram. The rest of you, please stand to the side.” I follow everyone else, leaving a tall redheaded girl standing alone in the middle of the coliseum.

Four soldiers enter the coliseum from a side door. Each one carries a different weapon: a sword, a set of daggers, a bullwhip, and a bow and quiver of arrows. A fifth soldier tags after them, carrying a set of targets. He sets them up, and then the five men leave.

“This is a test of your skill with various types of weapons,” says Elder. “Please begin by throwing each dagger at one of the targets.”

Absinthe obeys, and all five daggers strike the bull’s eye. Her next task is to get them off of the target with the bullwhip. She removes the first three, but drops the fourth. Upon this failure, Elder thunders, “Absinthe, please join your family in the audience.” As she leaves the coliseum, he calls the next person forward, a boy named Cardamon.

The competition moves slowly, with each eighteen-year-old trying his or her skill with the weapons. The first competitor to make it through all of the weapons is the half-breed girl. Her name, as I learn when Elder announces it, is Gwennyvirah Kearney. I’ve never heard a name like that before, since people in Caerlon and Locrea are always named after plants. I suppose Gwennyvirah is a dragon name.

Elder claps his hands together, and the soldiers move the weapons and targets to the side. “Gwennyvirah, the next portion of this competition is a trial of courage. Will the other contestants please return to the holding room?”

The other competitors and I all leave. As we wait in the holding room, each person faces the door to the coliseum, trying to catch a strain of sound that will tell us something about this unknown danger. The door, however, is thick and shuts out all sound completely. So, we’re left to ponder the mystery in silence.

When the door opens again and we reenter the coliseum, I glance around. No clues remain of what Gwennyvirah had to face. The half-breed looks like she was successful, though: she stands in a far corner of the coliseum, her green wings folded behind her back. I return my gaze to the next competitor, a boy named Hawthorn.

My heartbeat increases steadily throughout the last few trials before mine. Then Heather, the girl before me, is ordered to retreat to the stands, and it’s my turn.

“Holly Phoenix, please step forward.” Elder’s voice seems to reach my ears from very far away. Feeling as though my legs are made of water, I step to the center of the coliseum and look up at him. His face is a tiny, white-bearded pinprick in the sea of Caerlonians, but his words ring out clearly through the coliseum. “Begin with the dagger trial.”

I pick up one of the five daggers, remembering what Father told me when he showed me how to throw them: “It’s a gentle throw. Don’t hold the handle too tightly, or it’ll go off to the side.” I take my aim and hurl the dagger at a target. It lands just inside the bull’s eye. I proceed to the others, each time hitting the brilliant red heart. My fifth dagger makes a swishing noise as it sails through the air and lands, with a pleasing thunk, in the center of the target. The crowd erupts into cheers, and I feel a small grain of confidence growing in my chest. Maybe this competition won’t be so bad after all.

Elder raises his hands for silence. “You must now remove each dagger with the bullwhip,” he reminds me. My heart lifts at these words. Helping Father break horses and herd cattle have given me an unusually good knowledge of how whips work.

I pick up the bullwhip and take my time getting it adjusted in my sweaty right hand. Once I’m comfortable, I face the dagger-filled target. Judging the distance carefully, I raise my arm and do the precise wrist flick that’ll make the whip curl around the dagger. A loud crack echoes off of the marble walls and the long brown end twines once, twice, three times around the dagger handle. With a flourish, I pull the dagger from the target. Carefully, I unwind the whip from the dagger’s handle.

I follow the same steps for the other four daggers. My control of the whip is flawless each time, and soon I’ve got a pile of five daggers lying next to me. Smiling widely, Elder thunders, “Now, the next trial. Please take the bow and arrows and demonstrate your prowess at archery.”

Archery is also easy for me, though I prefer whips. Mother is a former archery champion and gave my siblings and me lessons. Each of my ten arrows seems to follow a predetermined course to my target. They fly in perfect arcs and by the time I shoot the last one, all of them are wiggling in the heart of the target. The crowd roars its approval as I return the bow to the weapon table. Quietly, I take a deep breath. _Halfway through… ___

When I pick up the sword for the fencing trial, I instantly notice that it’s a broadsword. It’s heavier than the sword Father used to train us to defend ourselves at home, and I know it’ll be harder to manage. However, I’m confident that my fencing skills won’t be affected.

I turn to face my opponent. He’s a tall, burly soldier with a heavy red beard. He takes one look at me and laughs loudly. “No woman could ever hope to beat me,” he mutters, his gray eyes alight.

I stand tall, my throat burning with anger. “Try me!” I shout at the soldier, and I run at him with the broadsword, cleaving the air next to his arm with a vicious uppercut.

After a matter of minutes, the duel becomes an elaborate dance around the coliseum. My smaller size is a huge advantage, for it means I can maneuver much faster than the soldier. I disarm him ten minutes into the duel. Glaring at me, he stomps out of the coliseum.

Once more, Elder raises his hands to silence the crowd. “Holly must now face the trial of courage,” he orders. “Other competitors please return to the holding room.” The remaining eighteen-year-olds file out of the coliseum.

When they’re gone, he addresses me again. “Holly,” he says, “your success at this final task will demonstrate your courage and ingenuity in the face of the unknown. You are free to use whatever weapons and strategies are most advantageous to you.” I nod and pick up the whip from the table.

Elder claps his hands together, and a door on the opposite end of the coliseum opens. I hear a low, rumbling growl before I see what is behind the door. With a thrill of terror, I watch as a full-grown lion stalks into the coliseum. Spit hangs in wet ropes from its long fangs, and I can count its ribs underneath its matted yellow-brown coat. I decide on the spot that I’ll do everything in my power to avoid killing this poor animal.

Glaring around, the starved lion advances on me. I stand my ground, the whip clenched in my hand. Before the lion gets too close, I aim the whip at its paw and crack it. It roars in fear at the loud sound and shies away, but I can sense that it’s not through with me.

The lion and I circle one another, each looking deeply into the other’s eyes. Suddenly it lunges, and I miss death by an inch as I dodge around it. As it hurtles past me, propelled by its own speed, I pop it at the base of the tail with the whip. Snarling, enraged, the lion whips back around and charges again. This time, I aim for the face.

My aim is true: with a sharp crack, the whip strikes the lion on the bridge of its nose and leaves a deep cut. Roaring with pain, the lion backs away. Blood, shockingly scarlet against the golden fur, streams from the cut, leaving a sticky trail in the sand. My heart twists with pity and I move slowly toward the lion, lowering my whip, but the animal slinks away fearfully. The crowd applauds wildly, the noise echoing once more off of the coliseum walls.

I find the boldness to look up at Elder. He’s beaming as he raises his hands for silence. For a long moment, he looks down at me. “Holly Phoenix, please join Gwennyvirah Kearney,” he thunders. “You have proven yourself worthy. You are the second champion.”


	5. The Three Champions

Still shaking, I put the whip back on the table and move toward Gwennyvirah. My fellow champion doesn’t greet or congratulate me. Instead, she glares at me with those wide yellow eyes, her upper lip curling slightly. It’s a look that I return. Cross-species breeding is a crime bad enough to get a person imprisoned for life in Caerlon, so half-breeds often live on the fringes of our society, stealing to eat. I sit down next to her, and she rustles her wings in an annoyed way and pointedly moves farther away from me.

The day is wearing on into its later hours. I can see the sun sinking lower in the sky as the competition progresses. I feel my attention slipping as the last eighteen-year-old, a girl named Sunflower, fails the archery trial.

The nineteen-year-olds enter the coliseum as Sunflower leaves it. I see the Locrean prince among them, his wrists still in shackles. He stands rigidly at the edge of the group while the other nineteen-year-olds compete. He’s next to last on the list.

The guard escorting the boy pushes him forward roughly, and he staggers and falls in the dust. All the Caerlonians laugh, and I see drops of water falling into the coliseum. He pulls himself back to his feet, ignoring the spit raining down on him, a blank look on his face.

Elder gazes imperiously at him. “You are Prince Sage Langerfelt of Locrea, King Dianthus’ servant?”

Sage stands a little taller. “Yes,” he replies, and the jeers from the crowd intensify. His voice is low and musical. I like the sound of it.

Elder nods. “Get on with the first trial. Let us see whether you can measure up to the standards of Caerlon.”

“Very well,” Sage says coolly. He pulls his shoulders back and lets his soldier escort remove the shackles. Rubbing his wrists, he takes a look around at the coliseum: the mocking audience, the weapons table and finally Gwennyvirah and me.

When he looks at the two of us, his brown eyes lock with mine for the briefest of moments. I feel a funny fluttering sensation in my chest and below my stomach as the handsome, mysterious prisoner looks at me. Then he turns to the weapons table, breaking the connection, and proceeds to the dagger trial.

Sage Langerfelt’s skill at each of the weapons is unparalleled. His daggers and arrows all hit the bull’s eye, and he removes each dagger with the whip. Admittedly, he’s not as good with a whip as I am, because he can’t make the end curl around the daggers. But, he uses enough force to send each one flying. When the fencing trial comes about, he beats his opponent within two minutes.

I watch on tenterhooks as the lion is released into the coliseum. Unlike me, Sage decides not to have mercy on it. When it charges him, he slashes its left side with the broadsword. It roars once or twice before collapsing in the sand, dead, and the crowd roars its approval of Sage, all animosity forgotten. He sets the bloody sword back down on the weapons table with the smallest of smiles on his face.

Elder clears his throat. “Holly, Gwennyvirah, please join Sage in the coliseum,” he orders. We obey, and Sage looks curiously at us as we stand next to him. Elder raises his voice again. “People of Caerlon, I give you our three champions: Holly Phoenix, Sage Langerfelt and Gwennyvirah Kearney!”

The noise is incredible: screams, stamps, applause and cheers all bounce off of the coliseum’s walls, making my eardrums ache. Elder raises his hands for silence. “Holly, Sage and Gwennyvirah, will you accompany me to King Dianthus’ palace to be debriefed on your mission? Everyone else is free to return home.”

Sage’s guard returns to us, and the four of us proceed to the horse-hitching area. We find the soldier escort’s horse, and he hoists a shackled Sage and me onto the saddle and clambers up behind us. I can feel Sage’s hands brushing against my back, sparking the funny fluttering sensation again. Gwennyvirah spreads her dragon wings and lifts into the air as we set off.

We stop outside of King Dianthus’ palace. I can’t help staring up at it, because I rarely see such splendid buildings. The palace is made entirely of red sandstone, and the trim around the doors and windows is gold with shells inserted into the metal. Torchlight dances on the gleaming walls.

“Come on,” the soldier says gruffly, and he pulls Sage down and leads the way through the mahogany front doors. They open onto a stone entrance chamber decorated with gold statues. Light from torches on the walls fills the room with a soft yellow glow.

Sage, Gwennyvirah and I trail the soldier up several sweeping granite staircases and down long, deserted corridors lined with tapestries showing the history of Caerlon. I know we’re being taken to see Elder. The soldier makes one last turn, and we find ourselves facing a plain wooden door. Our escort knocks three times on the door, and it opens of its own accord. I enter the room first, Sage and Gwennyvirah in my wake.

Elder’s seated at a small table. On shelves all around him sit jars of brightly colored potions and bundles of herbs, both fresh and dried. Claws, feathers, fangs and unicorn hair hang from the ceiling. In the corner, I glimpse a mirror covered in a piece of black silk sitting on a second table.

Upon our entrance, Elder stands and spreads his arms in welcome. “You may wait outside, Basil,” he addresses the soldier, who shuffles out of the room and closes the door behind him.

Elder returns his gaze to us. “Welcome, young ones,” he says. “Please sit down.” He motions to three chairs around the table, and we sit.

He looks at us appraisingly. “I am sure you are all wondering what your mission will involve,” he murmurs. We all nod nervously, and he continues. “There is an herb that will heal King Dianthus. It is called ice rosemary. Have you ever heard of it?”

Gwennyvirah and I both shake our heads, but Sage nods. “What is it?” Gwennyvirah asks him, her voice a cross between a human one and a low dragon growl.

“It looks exactly like rosemary, but it’s white,” Sage answers evenly. “It doesn’t grow in Caerlon, as far as I know. The climate here is too warm for it.”

“Correct,” says Elder. “Ice rosemary only grows in the mountains of Locrea.”

Dread sweeps over me. “So we have to get this ice rosemary from Locrea?” I ask.

“Yes,” replies Elder. “As I am sure you know, the journey between Caerlon and Locrea is very dangerous. There is the Forest of Ragnarok, the savanna with the Lion River and the Fire Plains. You three must cross those territories before you get to Locrea.”

“And that doesn’t even bring Locrea itself into the equation,” Gwennyvirah says quietly, glancing sideways at Sage. “They won’t appreciate two Caerlonians and a traitor entering their territory.”

“Precisely,” says Elder. “That is why, I believe, the scrying glass showed me three champions going on this mission. This way, if something happens to one of you, the others will be able to carry on.”

This statement does nothing to raise my morale. It’s obviously not a comfort to the others either: Gwennyvirah’s naturally pale face is even whiter than it was in the coliseum, and Sage is frowning slightly. He breaks the silence. “I hope there will be some kind of compensation for us after this mission is completed,” he says, a mocking tone in his voice. “Otherwise, what’s the point of sending us to our deaths?”

Elder glares at him before answering. “As a matter of fact, there will be compensation. Whoever returns from this mission with the ice rosemary, should only one return alive, will be declared heir to King Dianthus’ throne.”

“What if more than one of us comes back alive?” I ask.

“Then the title of heir will go to the one who played the largest part in retrieving the ice rosemary,” says Elder. “The other two will be knighted.” He clears his throat briefly and continues, “The journey takes about two weeks one way. You will have three days to prepare for it: collecting food, packing clothes, and the like. I take it you each have your own weapons?” Gwennyvirah and I nod, but Sage doesn’t. “Good. Sage, I shall let you borrow some weapons and one of our army’s spare horses, since you do not have your own. Are there any questions?”

When nobody speaks, Elder inclines his head. “Gwennyvirah and Holly, you may return to your homes. Basil!” The soldier reenters the room, and Elder says, “Please take Sage back to the kitchens.” The soldier leaves with Sage in tow, and Gwennyvirah and I leave together, lost in thought about our coming mission.


	6. The Lovers In The Fire

Over the next three days, I don’t have much contact with anyone, not even my family. We don’t discuss the details of my mission. I can tell they’re trying not to think about it, and I feel no desire to make them think about it. Instead, I focus all of my attention on preparing for the trip: packing a rucksack with clothes and medicines, making sure my tack and weapons are in working order, creating parcels of food. In case we have any down time during our travels, I put my sketchpad and pencils in my rucksack. It might be interesting to keep a kind of journal of our mission through drawings. I haven’t seen Sage or Gwennyvirah since the competition. I figure that they, like me, are busy getting ready for the journey ahead.

The night before the trip, I join my family for dinner. They’re all quieter than usual, even the little ones. I clear my throat and say mainly to break the painful silence, “Well, I leave tomorrow.”

Mother’s face whitens before she rearranges it into a brittle smile. “Yes,” she says faintly, picking up Hardock’s empty plate and carrying it toward the kitchen.

“Out of curiosity, what exactly do you have to do?” Rose asks.

“We have to find a plant,” I reply. “Elder says it’s the only thing that’ll save King Dianthus.”

“Where is it?” says Father, shooting half a glance at Mother as he asks.

I sigh before answering. I’d hoped that part of the mission wouldn’t be discussed. “It’s ice rosemary,” I say, “and it only grows in the mountains of Locrea.”

_Crash. _Hardock’s plate slips from Mother’s fingers and shatters on the floor. I whirl around to see her standing tall, her small hands curled into fists, her dark hair standing on end. Her face is pale as death, but there’s an angry fire in her eyes. “No,” she says, her voice shaking. “You’re not going, Holly.”__

“But Mother – ”

“No!” she shouts. “Have you any idea what lies between Caerlon and Locrea? Nobody has ever come back from that trip alive! I want King Dianthus to live too, but Elder is sending you and the other two champions on a suicide mission!”

“Mother, I don’t have a choice,” I say, disregarding the self-justifying note in my voice. “You saw the proclamation. The whole family will be put to death if I try to get out of it. I was chosen. I have to go.”

She lets out a moan and covers her face with her hands. I can see from her shaking shoulders that she’s crying. She wails in a muffled voice to no one in particular, “Why? Why my daughter? What have we ever done to deserve this?” She turns and runs to hers and Father’s room, slamming the door behind her.

No one in the family speaks about the mission again that evening. Valerian, Daisy and I clear up the plate shards, and then Rose reads to the younger children. Mother doesn’t come out of the bedroom, and I feel my heart breaking at the sight of my family suffering. I go to bed early because I can no longer stand the silence, the atmosphere suggesting that my family’s already mourning my almost certain death.

I rise early the next morning to hitch my bags to my saddle. Even Mallowsweet seems to know that something significant is happening, for she’s more still than usual as I tie the packs onto her back. I lead her around to the hitching post and tie her there. “I’ll come back after breakfast,” I say, and she snorts.

Breakfast is a solemn affair. Mother’s eyes are red, but she doesn’t have any more outbursts. Everyone eats in silence. My stomach’s squirming so much that it’s a wonder anything is staying down.

After breakfast, my family accompanies me outside. “Bye, Holly!” Valerian squeals as he hugs me. “See you when you get home!” I might just be going to Ramani to sell my drawings for the day.

I hug the rest of my siblings, trying to ignore the fact that their faces are swimming before my eyes. Then I hug my parents, fighting down the burning feeling in my throat. “Good luck, Holly,” Father whispers.

Mother says nothing at first, but simply looks into my face for a long time. Then she rips her marriage band off of her wrist and presses it into my hand. “For luck,” she whispers.

“No,” I stammer, staring at the bronze bracelet in awe. “No, I can’t take this.”

“Just do it!” Mother says hysterically, and she fastens it around my left wrist, taking away my bronze family crest necklace. I like the way the bronze and onyx shine in the light, especially the little bronze phoenix. She presses both of her hands to her chest in a traditional gesture of blessing. “We’ll all be thinking of you,” she chokes.

I nod and turn away so my family won’t see me starting to cry. I pull myself into the saddle and nudge Mallowsweet’s sides with my heels, and she breaks into a slow trot. I look back at my family one last time to see them all waving at me, and then I turn the corner leading into Ramani.

I arrive outside of King Dianthus’ palace within ten minutes. Elder is waiting, accompanied by Sage and Gwennyvirah. Both of my traveling mates are ready: each of them carries a small rucksack like mine, and Sage has one hand wrapped around a mare’s reins. Numerous parcels of food are tied to his saddle, and both of them have swords and daggers strapped to their belts. The mare snorts and Sage strokes her neck, murmuring, “Quiet, Ava.”

As I stop in front of them, I can feel the young prince’s dark eyes on Mother’s bracelet. I ignore him and speak directly to Elder. “I’m ready to go if Sage and Gwennyvirah are,” I say, trying to inject a note of confidence into my voice. They both nod silently, and Sage mounts his horse.

Elder surveys the three of us for a long moment before repeating Mother’s gesture. “May good fortune befall you on your journey,” he murmurs solemnly. Then he goes into the palace, leaving us behind.

Sage shoots me a sidelong glance. “You can lead the way through the city,” he says in his soft, musical voice. I nod and turn Mallowsweet toward the northern boundary. Gwennyvirah spreads her wings and jumps into the air, and she glides lightly beside the horses as we start on our way.

Within a matter of minutes, we’re out of Ramani and crossing the surrounding farmland. Sage and I both spur our horses into a gallop, and Gwennyvirah’s leathery green wings beat the air as she speeds up to keep pace with us. The waving brown grasses and small farms become blurs in my vision as we race past, and I relish the feeling of my hair whipping in the wind.

We travel in silence for many miles. I try to let my mind wander, but my thoughts return constantly to our mission. The steady pounding of Mallowsweet and Ava’s hooves sends me into a semi-trance: I become less and less aware of my companions the further we travel.

We only stop for a few minutes at midday to eat, Sage and I sharing some bread and cheese from my sack, Gwennyvirah chomping on a slab of raw meat. By the end of the day, we’ve left Ramani far behind us. The sun is just sinking below the horizon when a tired-sounding Gwennyvirah sighs, “What say we stop for the night?”

Sage and I nod and slow the horses to a stop. She flutters down from the air as we dismount. He looks around and then sighs. “Shame there aren’t any trees around, or we could build a fire.”

“Ahem,” says Gwennyvirah, moving forward. “Stand back, both of you.”

“What’re you – ” I start to ask. But she opens her mouth wide, facing a particularly dry clump of grass, and a huge jet of fire explodes from her mouth. Sage and I both shout in fright and leap back from the blaze as she draws a circle around the fire with one of her claws, muttering words in a rough tongue that neither of us understands.

When she completes her circle, she puts her clawed hands on her hips and tosses her blond hair out of her face. “That should do the trick, don’t you think?” she asks us.

“Er…what did you do, Gwennyvirah?” Sage says curiously.

She grins. The teeth on either side of her front teeth are fangs. “It’s a charm,” she says. “Learning how to control fire is part of dragon magic. The charm I cast stops the flames from going outside of the line I’ve drawn.” She points at the circle, and I see that the flames are indeed staying within the boundary. “And you can call me Gwen. I’ve got a very long name, I know.”

The three of us sit around the fire together, cooking some pork and carrots for Sage and me, while Gwen once again feasts on raw meat. After our supper, I pull my drawing materials out of my bag and start sketching our fire. When I look into the fire, I fancy that the flames are creating shapes, half-formed images that dance in my vision. I watch as the fire twists itself into wild horses, a phoenix, my mother’s face. Each time I see an image, I add it into my drawing.

Then, the flames seem to solidify and become more distinct. I put my sketchpad down to watch the fire’s formation, my attention caught. As I lean closer, I see the shapes of two people, a boy and a girl. They’re twined around each other like vines, kissing so fiercely that it’s hard to tell where each person’s body starts and ends. I can’t see either of their faces, but I glimpse the girl’s hair streaming down her back, a long ribbon of flame.

“Sage? Gwen?” I say. “Do you see that?”

“What?” asks Sage, putting a hand on the hilt of his sword.

“That boy and girl in the fire,” I say. I can’t tear my gaze away from the lovers in the flames.

The others look over my shoulder, directly at the entwined figures. “I don’t see anything,” Sage says softly.

“Nor do I,” says Gwen. They both return to their meals, looking confused.

I watch the boy running his long, fiery fingers through the girl’s hair and kissing her. How can Gwen and Sage not see the two people? Are they lying? I blink and when my eyes open again, the boy and girl are gone.

Shortly after this, Sage and I throw some dirt on the flames. Gwen agrees to keep the first watch, and we curl up underneath our horses’ saddle pads. I lie on my back, looking up at the swath of stars above our camp and wondering whom the people in the fire were. I’m still thinking about them as I slowly drift into sleep.

And so, the first leg of our journey begins.


	7. Ragnarok

We travel for three more days before we reach the border of Caerlon. Aside from the discussion of Gwen’s dragon magic on our first night, we haven’t held any intimate conversations. There’s mistrust on all sides.

Sage has clearly been brought up to be wary of half-breeds too, for he and Gwen seem constantly suspicious of one another. He and I hold a certain level of hate for each other as well. As a Caerlonian, I’ve been taught to believe that Locreans are no better than common thieves who only care about themselves, and I assume he has the same beliefs about my people. Finally, there’s the class divide between us. It’s common knowledge in both our countries that a merchant’s daughter and a prince don’t mix.

All in all, I wonder how our mission is supposed to succeed when we’re all suspicious of one another. However, something happens on our fourth day of travel that starts changing our relationships.

Trees had already started appearing at the edges of Caerlon. There, they were all thin and young, and the small forest’s only creatures were squirrels, birds and deer. Today, we enter the Forest of Ragnarok, where dwell the murderous tribes of centaurs. As we pass into Ragnarok, the trees become older and more gnarled. The brush thickens and vines appear between the branches, so we have to slow our horses to a walk.

“Holly, can I sit behind you?” Gwen asks irritably, rustling her wings to release them from the vines for the third time.

I nod and stop Mallowsweet. Gwen alights onto the mare’s rump, looking grateful.

Together we venture deeper into Ragnarok. The further into the forest we ride, the less sunlight penetrates the thick branches. Soon, everything is bathed in a deep greenish gloom, making it hard to tell trees from other, more sinister things.

I have no idea how we get turned around inside the forest. I don’t even know how long we stray away from our northern path. I only realize it after we’ve been traveling for several hours and we come to a tiny clearing. When I look up at the suddenly visible sky, the sinking sun is behind us.

“Guys?” I say, my voice cracking with lack of use. “We’re going the wrong way.”

“What?” says Sage, stopping Ava beside Mallowsweet.

“Look.” I point up at the sky. “The sun is setting, and it’s behind us. We’re going east.”

Gwen sighs. “Well, I guess we’ll have to try and retrace our steps,” she says.

“Nah. I brought a compass,” says Sage, his lopsided smile crossing his face. He twists around in his saddle to open his rucksack.

Then, I hear a distant sound. It’s the softest rustle of leaves and vines, but I hear it. An ominous feeling starts to steal over me and I say to my companions, “Don’t move.”

The other two freeze, Sage holding a tiny brass compass. “What is it?” Gwen asks urgently.

“I heard something.”

“What did you hear?” Sage asks, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“I don’t know, just shut up for a minute!” I hiss back. I strain my ears and eyes, on the alert for any other strange happenings. The Forest of Ragnarok stays silent, save for the rustle of the wind as the seconds stretch on.

Suddenly, an arrow whizzes past my left ear and hits the tree behind me. The forest comes alive with raucous shouts and pounding hooves, and arrows hiss past us in all different directions.

“Centaurs!” Sage shouts, and he and I dig our heels into our horses’ sides. We shoot forward into the trees, with Gwen hanging onto Mallowsweet’s saddle for dear life. Branches and vines whip me across the face as we charge between the trees, leaving stinging red marks on my cheeks. Behind us, I hear the thunder of centaur hooves.

We hurtle around a corner and into a second clearing. To my great horror, a long line of armed centaurs is facing us, their glossy flanks heaving as they race forward. I slam into a black-bodied female centaur. She and Mallowsweet rear in fright, and I fall to the sandy clearing floor. The earth is trembling with the impact of the hooves, and I roll through the forest of legs until I reach the clearing edge. Staggering to my feet, I look around, my heart thundering as loudly as the hooves. I can’t see Sage, but a palomino centaur has Gwen by the wings.

A pair of rough hands seizes my arms. I twist my head around to see a centaur with a heavy, roughly carved face holding me hostage. “Don’t bother to fight,” he growls as a second pair of hands detaches my weapon belt. “Two humans and a…whatever she is…cannot hope to defeat us.”

“What shall we do with them, Sagittarius?” calls a female voice, and the centaur holding me spins me around so that I can see the fate of my companions. The black centaur that collided with Mallowsweet is holding a spear to Sage’s throat while a pinkish roan female ties his hands behind his back with thick vines. Gwen has vines around both her hands and her wings. They’re struggling fruitlessly against their bonds.

“Shall we kill them here?” asks the pink roan. “They have knowingly trespassed upon our land.”

“No,” replies Sagittarius. “We will take them back to our main camp first.” Slowly the centaurs start to march us back the way we came.

Soon enough, we reach what looks like a huge gully in the forest floor. The centaurs escort us rather unceremoniously down a steep, rocky incline. At the bottom of the gully is a sort of camp, with strange carvings in the rocks all around. Trees on the edges of the gully lean over our heads, making a roof. Centaurs, dozens of them, peer hostilely at us from underneath wooden structures that look like unenclosed stables.

The centaur party escorting us stops in the middle of the gully. A huge sorrel centaur with flaming red hair glares at us from a bed of moss and ferns in front of a gigantic boulder. “What have we here?” he thunders, rising to his four legs. “Humans?”

“Yes, Leo,” replies Sagittarius, inclining his head. “They have trespassed upon our lands.”

Leo narrows his cold blue eyes. “Tie them up in the center, next to the Great Boulder,” he commands, nodding at a tree standing beside the huge rock. “We shall dispose of them in the morning.”

“Wait,” says Sage as the centaurs start to guide us over to the rock. “We mean you no harm, sir. We’re just trying to get to Locrea. Won’t you let us go? We promise we will leave you in complete peace.”

Leo lets out a scornful laugh. “Foolish human,” he sneers. “We know your kind’s promises. Did you know that both Caerlon and Locrea, and all the areas in between, used to belong to us? Your ancestors once promised us the freedom to roam wherever we wished if we allowed them to hunt on our land. And what did they do? Turn around and banish us to the Forest of Ragnarok.” Angry whinnies resound around the gully. Out the corner of my eye, I see the black centaur holding Sage pawing the ground furiously with a shining hoof.

“For that reason,” rumbles Leo over the din, “we feel no pity for any of your kind. Tie them up!” Our centaur escorts bind all three of us to the tree with more vines, being careful to secure Gwen’s wings. Then they leave us there, retiring to a supper of hay and forest plants.

The night advances and soon becomes chilly. All around us the centaurs are moving into their wooden shacks. As the gully slowly falls asleep, my mind is whirring. I glance over at the two centaurs guarding us, who are holding the weapon belts. We need the weapons to escape. How can we reach them when we’re all tied to a tree?

The answer comes to me in one glorious stroke of inspiration. Leaning over to Gwen, I whisper, “Gwen, when they try to kill us tomorrow, use your fire.”

It’s dark out, but I can still see her grinning. “Good idea,” she whispers back. She then passes the message on to Sage, who nods. None of us fall asleep that night, because we’re too busy thinking about what we have to do tomorrow.

The next morning dawns clear and cool. Dew drips from the trees above into the gully, gleaming in the sunlight. After breakfast, the centaurs untie us. “Which one shall we kill first?” says Leo, surveying the three of us with a cold eye. “How about the boy?” Roughly, Sagittarius takes Sage by the arm and shoves him up onto the stone.

A gray centaur approaches Leo with a huge club. It’s taller than I am and is carved intricately with odd symbols. Its end is as big as my father’s hand and looks extremely deadly. Sagittarius holds Sage down as Leo walks onto the stone, grasping the club. Catching Gwen’s eye, I mouth one word: _fire. _She nods and winks at me.__

Then flames shoot right at Leo, catching his club on fire, and Sage wiggles out of Sagittarius’ grasp. Our captors shriek in loud, whinnying voices and scatter for their bows. The palomino centaur releases me as he runs, and I hurtle toward the centaurs holding our weapon belts. As I pass Gwen, she leans forward and snaps the heavy vines around my wrists with her fangs. My hands free, I snatch the bullwhip from my weapon belt. I lash my whip at the blue roan centaur holding the belts, and he immediately drops them and flees.

Arrows start to fly out of nowhere, but Gwen’s more than a match for them. Her fire instantly turns each arrow into ash, and my whip removes the bows from their owners faster than they can blink. Gwen uses her fire to push the centaurs into the middle of the gully, where she draws a ring of fire around them, trapping them. As she shouts another of her dragon spells, I pull the daggers from the weapon belts and cut Sage free with one of them. He cuts the vines around Gwen’s hands and wings, and then he lets out a piercing whistle. Mallowsweet and Ava come galloping down into the gully, and he and I leap into the saddles.

“Which way is north?” I cry over the roar of the flames.

“That way!” he shouts back, pointing straight ahead.

Gwen leaps onto Mallowsweet’s rump once more. “Let’s go!” she yells. We shoot off up the side of the gully and into the forest.

We don’t stop until we’re well away from the centaur tribe that captured us. By the time we finally come to a stop, night has fallen in earnest: when Sage and I dismount in a third small clearing, I see stars in the sky. A chilly wind lifts my hair as I watch Gwen leap down from Mallowsweet’s back. Sage ties the two horses to a tree, and I say, “What did you do to the fire ring around those centaurs?”

“I bewitched it,” Gwen replies. She sounds exhausted. “I turned it into cold fire so that if the centaurs touch it, it won’t burn them.”

Sage snorts as he sits down heavily on the clearing floor. “After they try to kill us all, you have mercy on them?” he says incredulously.

Gwen scowls at him. “Yes,” she growls, baring her fangs. “In Caerlon, we do not kill unless there is no other choice. Evidently you Locreans are not half as kind.”

“Not half as weak is more like it,” he shoots back, his handsome features twisted with a sneer. “Locreans are not afraid to take revenge when we have been wronged.”

“Weakness was it, when King Dianthus and Elder spared you?” she asks coldly. “Anyway, why do you continue to spout the beliefs of Locreans? You’re an outcast, no more one of them than Holly and me.”

I sense that this discussion is about to turn very ugly, so I step in. “Look, arguing over whose country is better isn’t going to get us anywhere,” I say. “I’ll take the first watch. You two get some sleep.” Sage and Gwen both nod, glaring at one another before lying down. Soon enough, both of them are asleep, Gwen curled up with her wings folded around her.

As they sleep, I keep an eye on our surroundings and draw the dark shapes of trees in the night. Every once in a while, I glance at Sage. I can see the Mark of the Traitor on his cheek in the moonlight. Briefly I wonder, again, what he did to be banished from Locrea. I’ll have to ask him that soon. For a little while, I watch his chest rise and fall evenly as he breathes, and I try to ignore that funny fluttering that keeps happening whenever I look at him.

I wake him a few hours later. “Your turn to keep watch,” I say, avoiding the brown eyes.

“All right,” he yawns, taking my place near the extinguished fire. Our eyes meet for the shortest moment before I turn my back on him.


	8. Savanna Storm

It takes us a few more days to get through the Forest of Ragnarok. Apparently the centaur tribe that took us hostage spread the word about my whip skills and Gwen’s fire, for we’re not attacked again. On the contrary, the two other centaur tribes we encounter let us pass through their territory freely. I see them lower their bows and spears and melt back into the underbrush, their long tails flicking in a most displeased fashion.

All the same, I’m relieved when we finally emerge from the forest’s dark shadows. It’s nice to be able to speak in a voice above a cautious whisper.

Gwen is pleased to be out of the woods too. As soon as the trees thin and we get a view of the parched savanna, she lets out a screech of delight and throws herself into the air. Sage and I laugh as she loops and spirals above our heads. “You have no idea how good it feels to be able to fly properly again!” she crows as we move into the open.

The savanna, as I learn quickly, does have its downsides. At first, the new space is a relief after the tightly packed trees of Ragnarok. The landscape is unbroken by any tree or bush. By the second day of being on the savanna, however, the sun has burned the back of my neck to an angry red. Vicious winds batter us from all sides, sending clouds of dust into our faces and eyes. I also realize just how vast and empty the savanna is: by our third day of traveling across it, none of us have seen a living soul other than ourselves. It’s on the fifth day of savanna travel, though, that we encounter the greatest danger the land holds.

It’s unnaturally still today, with little wind. That means that there’s no relief at all from the burning heat. Sweat drips sickeningly from my forehead into my mouth, leaving brown tracks on my dust-covered face. By late afternoon, even Gwen has fluttered down to sit on Ava’s rump behind Sage.

“Too hot to fly any more?” he asks. All she can manage to do is nod, her green wings sparkling with sweat.

About an hour later, I notice a drop in temperature. I look up, and instantly I know why: clouds have scudded across the sky, covering the sun. Yet there’s something funny about those clouds…they’re dark and ominous, and they swirl in an odd way. As I watch, they start to swirl faster and a violent wind kicks up. I can actually feel Mallowsweet staggering with the gusts’ force.

“What’s happening?” Sage shouts over the wind, his dark hair whipping about his dirty face.

I look around wildly, trying to see through the thick clouds of dust. A crash of thunder echoes across the empty savanna, and the wind blows so fiercely that it makes musical pitches. Then I see it: a long black column of swirling air descending from the gathered clouds about five miles in the distance.

“It’s a tornado!” I cry, terror and awe making my voice jump an octave above its usual tone.

“Run!” yells Sage, and we tear off in the opposite direction of the tornado, Gwen desperately clutching the saddle. We charge blindly into the dust, no longer caring which way we’re heading. Four of our food packages are ripped from the saddles and carried away by the wind. Its twisted melody rises in pitch and volume, screeching in our ears as the tornado swirls closer to us. All of the dust makes it almost impossible to breathe. I start to panic: either we’re going to get picked up and thrown around by the tornado, or we’re going to suffocate.

Then something looms out of the dust and darkness. It’s a mound of earth only a little higher than my chest. A door, just big enough for a human to crawl through, is in its side. Without even asking each other, Sage and I dismount. Gwen and I quickly detach the remaining food parcels from the saddles as he wrenches open the door. Together we throw the food and our weapons into the mound, and he slaps the two mares’ rumps. As they dash off into the storm, I feel a gut-wrenching pang for my family’s horse, but now’s not the time to focus on that. Gwen and I duck through the door and Sage follows, slamming it behind him.

Before I can really take in my surroundings, I hear a flurry of small footsteps. A voice shouts from the area of my torso, “Bring your things downstairs! Quickly!” I look down, and the sight that meets my eyes is unprecedented.

It’s a tiny old man. His ears are slightly pointed, and his white beard trails on the dirt floor. His vest and trousers, which look homespun from grass fibers and patches of leather, might fit a toddler. The little man picks up a bundle of food and, staggering under its weight, leads the way to another door on the opposite side of the room. Sharing glances, we gather up the rest of the food and our weapons and follow him.

The old man, whom I guess is one of the dwarves living on the savanna, leads us down a dark stairwell. We seem to be going underground. “Shit!” Sage mutters as he bumps his head on the low ceiling. Nobody speaks after that until we reach the bottom of the stone steps, where there’s a third tiny door.

“Through here,” grunts the dwarf, and he unlocks the door with a key the size of my fingernail. Ducking once more, Sage, Gwen and I enter the room beyond.

It’s filled with a dozen other tiny people, male and female, young and old. All of them wear leather and savanna grass clothes similar to the old man’s. “Poppa, what’s all this?” shouts one of the female dwarves, standing up at the sight of us newcomers. Her hair is short and brown, and her bright brown eyes resemble the man’s. She looks as if she could be his daughter.

“Travelers, Aphrodite,” he replies gruffly. “Obviously they are seeking shelter from the tornado.”

“That we are,” I say politely. “May we stay here until the storm blows over? This was the only safe place around.”

Aphrodite’s suspicious face instantly brightens. “Of course you may stay,” she says. “We know how dangerous the storms can be.

“Zeus here is my father,” she says, and the old dwarf nods in greeting. “My entire family lives here: my mother Hera…”

An elderly female dwarf with Aphrodite’s heart-shaped face murmurs, “Welcome to our home.” She’s seated in a small rocking chair near the fireplace.

“My sisters, Eris and Athena, and Eris’ husband Thanatos,” continues Aphrodite, and three of the dwarves wave at us.

“My brothers: Hephaestus, Hermes, Dionysus and Kairos.” Four of the male dwarves murmur greetings, and Sage, Gwen and I reply in kind.

“And this is my family,” Aphrodite finishes, beckoning another man forward. His eyes are a clear, brilliant blue and he holds the hand of the tiniest child I’ve ever seen. The kid’s about the size of a human baby born five months early, and yet he’s walking, looking up at the three of us with bright interest.

“I am Ares, Aphrodite’s husband,” says the male dwarf, reaching up to shake my and Sage’s hands. “This is Eros, our son.” The little boy beams at us, but he still holds tightly to his father’s hand.

“What are your names, travelers?” Athena says, looking curiously at us.

“My name is Holly Phoenix,” I say, looking around at the dwarf family. “These two are Sage Langerfelt and Gwen Kearney. We’re on our way to Locrea, but we got sidetracked by the storm.”

“Well, we won’t allow you to go hungry,” says Dionysus, rising from his chair. Soon there’s a blazing fire in the fireplace, and a pot of stew is bubbling over it. The smell makes my mouth water and my stomach rumble.

Aphrodite and Eris divide the stew between the three of us. “Oh, we have food in our packages,” Gwen says.

Aphrodite smiles. “You are our guests,” she says warmly. “While guests are under a dwarf’s roof, common courtesy dictates that we treat those guests like family.”

“Thank you very much,” I say, accepting my bowl of stew from Eris. Ravenous, we eat with the dwarf family.

We spend some time with the dwarves after supper, recounting the tales of our journey. Little Eros is fascinated with my drawings, and I keep him amused by doing a quick sketch of him. Shortly after this, the dwarves bring out blankets and scraps of cloth. Aphrodite and Kairos arrange them into a nest for us. “I am sorry we can’t offer you any of our beds,” Athena tells us. “They’re much too small for you.”

“You’ve done more than enough,” Sage says graciously.

Gwen and I nod in agreement. As we lie down on the blankets, I find myself facing the fireplace. An hour passes, and everyone falls asleep except me. I’m having trouble getting there tonight.

When I look into the dying flames, the thing that happened on our first night of travel happens again. The fire seems to twist once more into the forms of a boy and girl embracing. They look a bit more solid than last time I saw them: I can tell their outlines from the surrounding flames more clearly. I still can’t see their faces. Who are they?

Sage moves in his sleep beside me, breaking my concentration and making the lovers in the fire disappear. I watch him for a moment. His finely carved face is relaxed, and I can see his eyes moving under the closed lids. Shadows from the firelight dance over his face, making the scars on his cheek even darker. All of a sudden, I think that the firelight, shadows and Sage’s facial shape would all make a wonderful drawing. Quietly, I get my things out of my rucksack and lie on my stomach beside him, sketching his face by the dim firelight. The Mark of the Traitor proves slightly difficult to draw, with all the other shadows on his skin.

As I’m working on the shading on Sage’s eyes, he moves in his sleep again. A lock of hair falls across his left eye. Almost unconsciously, I brush it away, the firelight glinting on my mother’s marriage band and making the phoenix’s tiny eyes glow.

He feels my touch: he moves his head, and I pull my hand away as if I’ve been burned. I stay still as a cat stalking its prey as he rolls over. He lets out a little sigh and sleeps on. I feel once more that fluttering in my chest and below my stomach. Even though I know him better now, Sage still has a mystery about him that’s…sexy.

I shake my head. What am I thinking? _He’s a Locrean, idiot, _I tell myself firmly._ He’s a Locrean prince and a prisoner of Caerlon. He’s off-limits._ Forcefully, I push my sketchpad and pencil back into my rucksack. Turning my back on him, I lie on my side. I fight with my brain, struggling not to let my thoughts stray anywhere near the young prisoner.


	9. Sage's Tale

We’d intended to leave the dwarves in peace the next morning. Over breakfast, however, Zeus stumps back down the stairs from the upper portion of the mound. He looks worried. “The tornado’s still swirling around out there,” he reports, accepting a bowl of potato oatmeal from Aphrodite.

Gwen looks around and starts speaking to thin air before addressing Zeus. She looks down and says, “I thought tornadoes lasted no longer than a few hours?”

“Normally they do,” says Ares, “but weather conditions on the savanna are such that they will sometimes last for a few days. You will have to stay here until the storm ends, I’m afraid.”

“If we’re too much trouble, we can seek shelter elsewhere,” Sage says humbly. “We would hate to impose.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Eris replies. “You can’t go back on the savanna now.”

“We will lodge you until the tornado’s gone,” murmurs Hera.

“At least let us help you keep house until we leave,” I beg Aphrodite. “It’s the least we can do in return for all the kindness you’ve shown us.” Sage and Gwen both nod.

Aphrodite smiles warmly. “Thank you very much,” she says to us. “If you wish to help around the house, you may do so, but please do not feel obligated.”

We set to work helping the dwarves. Sage and I help make the beds and sweep the small underground house. Gwen goes to work in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and meats with her claws. At the end of the day, all of us relax around a fire Gwen has made. I find myself seated next to Sage, close to the fireplace. The firelight makes the “X” on his cheek stand out again.

Curiosity rises yet again in me, and I look around. No one’s paying any attention to us: the dwarves are all busy playing cards or talking quietly, and Gwen’s telling Eros a story. Now is a good time to ask him about it. But before I speak, he asks me, “Holly, are you married? You’re wearing a band.”

“Oh, no, I’m not married,” I say, taken aback by the question. “It’s my mother’s. She gave it to me before we left. For luck, she told me.”

“Ah,” he says. “I was just wondering. I thought you seemed young for a bride.”

We go quiet for a minute, and I find myself losing my guts. I pull my sketchpad out of my rucksack, intending to do some more shading work on last night’s sketch. I would’ve preferred that Sage not see my drawing of him, but fate has other plans for me: he glances over my shoulder as I’m putting the finishing touches on the lock of hair, which I decided to include.

“Wow,” he says quietly.

I jump and flip the cover of my sketchpad shut. “Who gave you permission to look at my work?” I snap, feeling a blush creep into my cheeks.

“Was that me?” he asks, ignoring my demand.

I sigh. “Oh, all right, yes,” I grumble, flipping the sketchpad open to the drawing. “I couldn’t fall asleep last night, so I decided to try and draw you. I’m keeping a kind of journal of our mission through sketches.”

“That’s really good,” he says, his dark eyes traveling over each line and curve. I have to fight to not let my eyes do the same thing to the real Sage. “You make me seem real. Like the drawing is alive.”

“Thank you.” His compliment helps me get my guts up again. I clear my throat and say, “I have something to ask you, Sage.”

He looks at me, and I swear to God I feel my insides shiver. “Yes?” he says quietly.

“I wanted to ask you…” I swallow nervously. “How’d you get the Mark of the Traitor?”

Seemingly unconsciously, Sage touches the scars on his face. “And what interest would a Caerlonian have in that?” he asks delicately. His voice is light and casual, but I hear mockery in it. “I was under the impression that a disgraced Locrean’s story was of no interest to you.”

I’m glad of the semidarkness, for it hides my red cheeks. “We’re going to find the ice rosemary together, all three of us,” I reply evenly. “I think we should all get to know one another better. As we learned in the Forest of Ragnarok, knowing each other’s strengths and weaknesses can help us survive.”

He’s silent for a moment, looking at me as if he’s never seen a woman before. He strikes an oddly impressive figure in the firelight, his profile half buried in shadow. This moment would make another good drawing. I let the silence between us stretch. He’ll start talking when he’s ready.

Then Sage starts to speak, in a hushed voice so that the dwarves and Gwen won’t hear. “I was born in Locrea,” he tells me. “As you know, I’m the son of Yew Langerfelt, the king of Locrea. When I lived there, I was heir to his throne.”

I nod. My eyes flicker to the golden eagle with the hammer and the wand, rising and falling softly with Sage’s chest as he breathes.

“My family lived in the castle in the heart of Ajareen, the capital of Locrea,” he continues. “I was educated by the finest private teachers in the country. We had hundreds of servants and guards at our disposal. Father and Mother never really allowed me to go outside of the castle grounds, but when I was a child, I never dreamed of doing that anyway. Why would I, when everything I ever wanted was in our court?

“But as I got older, I started wondering what was outside the castle,” he says, and I hear a note of bitterness creeping into his voice. “When I was fourteen, I lied to my parents and said that I was going hunting. Instead, I disguised myself as a peasant and went into Ajareen proper. I wanted to see if the people were really as happy and prosperous as my father said they were.

“I got a rude awakening from that illusion,” he says. “As soon as I got past the castle grounds, I began to see the truth about King Yew’s rule. I saw the poverty that abounded in the city. Much of the government’s resources went toward helping my father’s rich allies, leaving the poor with barely enough money for food. Father’s soldiers beat the weak in the streets, simply because they knew that he wouldn’t punish them for it. I witnessed the execution of a man with six children whose crime was speaking out against the king’s laws.”

I feel sick. “That’s horrible,” I murmur.

Sage nods. “I thought so too,” he says quietly. “So I decided to do something about it. I started to steal food from the castle gardens and kitchens. At night, I’d go into Ajareen in my peasant disguise. There, I’d give the food to the poor and then come back home.

“I was breaking a law that my own family wrote. In Locrea, the rich aren’t even permitted to get near the poor for any reason. The servants had to run errands in the city for us. But I didn’t want to just sit in the castle and do nothing when I knew that people were suffering. As I got better at smuggling things out of the castle, I started bringing old servants’ clothes and even money to the people.”

He pauses again, and a shadow crosses his handsome face. “I got caught when I was seventeen,” he says quietly. “One of the night patrols started beating me as I was helping some peasants, because he thought I was one of them. There was a fight, and my hood slipped off and the guard recognized me.”

“What happened then?” I whisper.

“I was given a full criminal trial before the High Court of Locrea,” he replies. “My father presided over the trial. He wasn’t really there for my defense,” he growls. “When the High Court asked him what he felt was the appropriate punishment for me, he said, ‘Do what you will with him. He has betrayed my trust and his class. I no longer recognize him as my son.’

“Normally a person who broke the law against fraternizing with the poor would be hanged publicly, but the High Court thought my upbringing was too good for that. They decided to punish me with the Mark of the Traitor,” Sage presses on, fingering the scars on his cheek. “Then I was banished from Locrea forever. But they let me keep my family crest necklace.”

He falls silent, gazing into the fire. I feel a twist of pity in my chest. Without my conscious control, my hand reaches over and gently touches his shoulder. When he looks down at it in surprise, I quickly pull it away. “So what did you do after you were banished? How’d you end up in Caerlon?” I ask in an attempt to gloss over the moment of awkward tenderness.

He shakes his head as if to clear it. Then he murmurs, “I just kind of wandered across the continent until I got to Caerlon. I figured it couldn’t hurt to see if they’d accept me as a citizen.”

He laughs ruefully and continues, “Obviously I was mistaken. Shortly after I crossed the border, a peasant family captured me and brought me to Ramani. King Dianthus and Elder interrogated me about my history, and they agreed to keep me as a prisoner-servant. The idea was that they would test my willingness to work and prove myself trustworthy. I’ve done tasks far below my station, been lodged in the kitchens like a common servant and not complained about it, to prove to them that I deserve a place in Caerlon.”

He pauses, and I know that he’s much angrier about his situation than he’s letting on. “Perhaps when we return from our mission successful, I’ll be able to convince them that I’m worthy of their respect,” he says quietly. “Until then, however, I remain the lowest of the low in Caerlon.”

“I don’t know if Elder expects us to succeed,” I muse, putting my drawing materials back in my rucksack. “Nobody in Caerlon has ever returned from this journey alive, my mother said it the night before we left.”

Sage shrugs. “We’ll just have to trust and help each other,” he says. “One alone couldn’t survive this mission, but three together might.”

I yawn and rise to go to our nest. “Thank you for telling me all this, Prince Sage,” I say shyly.

He grins, obviously embarrassed. “Holly, please, I’m not really a prince anymore. Just call me Sage.”

“All right. I think I’ll go to bed now.”

“Goodnight, Holly.”

“Goodnight.” As I lie down, I gaze into the fire. Once again, I see the entwined forms of the boy and girl. I look at them and at Sage’s silhouette until I fall asleep.


	10. Ramona Falls

The next morning, Zeus greets the three of us with the news that the tornado has finally blown itself out. “You should be able to get back on the road today,” he says over breakfast.

“That’s great,” I say. Kind though the dwarves are, I’m keen to escape the tiny underground house. I need some space, especially from Sage. After our talk last night, the drawing and the whole shoulder-grabbing incident, it’s uncomfortable for me to be squeezed between him and Aphrodite at the table.

After breakfast, we gather up what’s left of our food parcels. Aphrodite, Athena, Eris and Hera all insist that we take some potatoes and carrots, an offer that we accept gladly. The whole family, even Eros, accompanies us up the staircase and out onto the savanna. The light is blinding after the cool darkness of the dwarves’ home.

“I hope we can find our horses,” I say uneasily to Sage.

He smiles and puts his fingers to his mouth. His whistle pierces all of our ears and hangs on the air for a while before being carried away on the wind. We all stand in silence, waiting.

Then I hear the unmistakable thunder of hooves behind us. Everyone turns to see Mallowsweet and Ava galloping faithfully toward us. I run to my horse and stroke her muzzle, relieved to see that she looks fine. She’s whickering softly, as if she too is rejoicing at our reunion.

Gwen, Sage and I all strap our food onto the saddles. Briefly I grasp hands with Aphrodite and Ares. “We can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for us,” I tell them.

“It was our pleasure,” says Aphrodite, beaming as she shakes hands with Sage. She simply nods to Gwen, who laughs, seeming to understand that handshakes are hard when one person has claws instead of fingernails.

“You will be more than welcome to stay here, should you ever pass through these parts again,” says Athena.

“Thank you,” says Sage, climbing into his saddle. “Thank you all very much.”

“Safe travels,” says Hera, and Eros waves as the dwarf family returns inside.

“Now, which way is north?” asks Gwen, looking up at the sun.

Sage, who has gotten his compass out, is the first to answer that question. “Straight ahead,” he says, pointing in that direction. He and I nudge our horses’ flanks as Gwen launches into the air, and we set off.

The next two days of travel pass without incident. The savanna is as vast, hot and unforgiving as ever, but we don’t run into any more storms. I realize that we’re getting close to the Lion River when trees finally break the wide sweep of grass. I lead the way into a fine green forest that’s a far cry from Ragnarok. These woods have plenty of sunlight shining through the leaves and space between younger trees.

At Sage’s suggestion, we stop in a deserted clearing for a short lunch. He and I let our horses graze untied nearby while we eat. I quite think I see his eyes traveling in my direction as we munch on carrots and apples. In the post-lunch lull, I take out my sketchpad and begin work on a new drawing of Gwen picking her fangs with one long claw. She laughs when she asks me what I’m working on and I show her.

Suddenly, Sage jumps to his feet. “Shh!” he whispers, holding up both of his hands. “I think I hear something.” Gwen and I freeze, straining our ears.

Then I hear it: the crunch of heavy footsteps on leaves, low, ragged breathing. With a thrill of horror, I see four huge lions, snarling as they move toward us. Their paws are big enough to cleave a full-grown human in two, and their eyes are wide and bulging. They’re growling in a way that tells me they’re hungry. Mallowsweet and Ava whinny in fright, and they gallop away into the woods and one of the lions follows them. Weapons will be of no use against three other lions.

“RUN!” I shriek, and we do. Behind us, I can hear the lions’ heavy paws striking the ground. Gwen looks back and shoots fire at them, but they simply dodge the flames.

The three of us round a corner, and I see the Lion River rushing before us. The lions are chasing us onto a rocky ledge overhanging the river. White water churns underneath us as they come around the corner. “We’ll have to jump!” I scream over the roar of the water.

Sage nods, and he and I dive headfirst into the swirling rapids as Gwen leaps into the air, holding our rucksacks. We sink under the water, and I claw at the dark mass, feeling my lungs filling with its chill as I struggle back to the surface. My head breaks above the waves, and I gulp in air. All around me the river gushes and roars, and I see no sign of the others.

Then I hear my name, shouted over the noise of the river: “Holly!” I turn as best as I can, buffeted by the current, and see Sage swimming toward me. My clothes billowing around me, I strike out for him and fling myself over the log he’s hanging onto. Together we kick, beating the water with our legs as we try to direct our log back towards the shore. Gwen swoops over our heads, and I know that both of us are too heavy for her to lift.

I turn to look at Sage. He seems to know what I’m thinking. “Holly, no!” he shouts over the rushing of the speeding water. We’re nearing Ramona Falls, I can sense it.

I let go of the log, ignoring Sage’s yell of horror as Gwen lifts him out of the water. My clothes, heavy with river water, start to drag me down. The waves close above my head, and I see darkness crawling over my eyes as my lungs fill once more with water, choking me. I let my body go limp, welcoming the promise of no more feeling. The last things I’m aware of are two arms closing around my waist, strong but gentle, the tender grasp that surely belongs to Death himself…


	11. Confessions

Hm. Apparently those arms didn’t belong to Death, because I’m awake. I’m lying on my back, on the ground, and I can hear the rush of the waterfall nearby. For several long minutes I lie still, listening to the miraculous pounding of my heart.

Then I hear rustling beside me, and I summon enough strength to look around. Sage is lying next to me on his stomach, his dark hair clinging wetly to his face. From what I can see, he’s also breathing, and relief sweeps through me. “Sage?” I ask croakily.

“Holly!” he yelps, pushing himself into a sitting position. “I thought you were…”

Evidently what he’d thought is too horrible for words. He breaks off, shivering slightly, and helps me sit up. I look around blearily. We seem to be near the base of the waterfall, for I feel a light mist caressing my face. “Where’s Gwen?” I ask.

“Here,” she growls to my left, and I face her. Her green wings and blond hair are also wet, though not as drenched as Sage and me, and her yellow eyes are burning. “You fool,” she spits at him. “I would’ve come back for Holly once you were safe. You should’ve let me handle it.”

My brain is working very slowly. “What happened after I let go of the log?” I mumble. I try to stand, but my knees collapse under me and I land clumsily on top of Sage.

He nudges me out of his lap and makes me lean against a pine tree. Sitting next to me, he says quietly, “Gwen picked me up and started carrying me to shore. I saw you sinking and…” He pauses, appearing to grapple with some complicated emotions before saying, “I couldn’t watch you drown.”

“I tried to talk him out of it,” Gwen rages, her wings flapping furiously. “I said that I would come and get you, but would he listen? No!”

“So what happened?” I ask.

“Sage shouted to let him go, to put him back in the river,” she shrieks. “When I refused, he bit my hand. I let go, and he fell back in the water. He dived down after you and pulled you back up, but you’d lost consciousness already.”

So that was whose arms had closed so tenderly around me as I drowned. I stare wonderingly at Sage, who’s too shy to return the look for longer than a few seconds. Maybe he, too, is aware of how gentle he was in touching me.

Gwen, oblivious to our silent communication, storms on. “I tried to lift one of you out, but Mr. Chivalrous here wouldn’t let you go,” she snarls. “And you’re too heavy to lift together. Anyway, by that time it was too late, even if I had been able to lift you. You went straight over the waterfall.”

She points up. I see Ramona Falls towering over us: a sheer drop of twenty feet or more. “How’d we survive that?” I murmur. “I didn’t even break any bones.”

“The water at the bottom was deep,” Gwen says tersely. “You two had better thank your lucky stars that you missed landing on the rocks!”

“I was the first of us to reach the surface,” Sage says sheepishly to me. “I pulled you to shore. Then you woke up about five minutes later, and here we are.”

Gwen lets out a livid huff, and smoke comes out of her nostrils. She creates a fire for us. Shivering, I move as close to the flames as I can. Sage sits next to me, and I huddle close to him, all shyness forgotten in the attempt to get warm. He understands my purpose and puts an arm around my shoulders.

“So what are we going to do about food?” I ask, my teeth chattering. “The horses ran off when the lions came, and they took all the food with them.”

“I’ll go hunt something down,” Gwen answers. “You two stay put.” She rises into the air and flies away, leaving Sage and me alone in the clearing.

“I can’t thank you enough for that,” I tell him. “I’d be dead if it wasn’t for you.”

“It’s nothing,” he mumbles. I look up at his face, and even by the low light of the fire I can see him blushing. “Like you said, we all need to help one another if we’re going to make it back to Caerlon alive.”

Neither of us speaks again until Gwen returns. She’s dragging a huge buck by the antlers, panting. “Give me a hand cutting this up, lovebirds,” she says sarcastically.

Sage and I spring apart and unsheathe our daggers, which had somehow remained in their scabbards during the trip down the Lion River. We help Gwen peel away the buck’s fur, and the other two proceed to gut the buck. While Sage removes the insides, Gwen slices off chunks of meat with her claws. Soon several slabs of venison are sizzling over the fire. Each of us washes our hands and daggers in the pool, and Sage picks up one of the antlers. As we sit beside him, he starts whittling a piece of it. I hold my sketchpad close to the fire, letting the slightly damp pages dry out. Thankfully the water didn’t damage any of my drawings.

Then I see them yet again. The young couple stands in the flames, locked as ever in their embrace. I watch them for a while, wondering as always who the boy and girl are. The flames twist and swirl around the joined figures, blending with the girl’s long hair. Unexpectedly, the boy raises his head and looks straight at me. With a jolt of unease I recognize the hawk-like eyebrows, the thin shape, the mark on his right cheek. Sage is gazing at me from the fire’s depths. Then the girl turns her head too, and I can’t help letting out a cry of shock and leaping to my feet, sending my sketchpad flying.

My own face is looking at me from the flames.

My heart pounds in my throat. What does this mean? The Holly in the fire smiles wryly and returns her gaze to the flame-Sage. Easily, smoothly, they twist around each other as their lips meet. Their two figures blur together, his face and body melting into hers, until I can’t make out boundaries between them. Then they gradually turn into a crest: a vine made of intertwined sprigs of holly and sage, wrapping around a sword. A twig falls in the fire, and the image vanishes.

It’s only after they’re gone that I notice my knees shaking. I sink to the ground next to the real Sage, who looks both confused and angry. “What was that for?” he asks me, pushing his dagger back into its scabbard. “I thought you’d seen the lions coming back, at the very least.”

“I saw them again. The boy and girl in the fire.” My voice seems higher than normal, and I can’t look in his eyes.

He looks just as confused as ever. Gwen, on the other hand, stands. “I think I’ve just understood something,” she says. “Holly, can I talk to you in private?”

I nod, and she leads the way into the trees. She doesn’t stop until we’re well out of earshot of Sage, in a second small clearing. She sits me down on a log and says, “You’re a flame-reader.”

“I’m a what?” I stammer.

“It means that you can see things in fire,” she explains. “Things that will happen later.”

“You mean…” A shiver goes through me. “I…it’s the future, what I’m seeing?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

Gwen chuckles. “I’m half dragon, Holly,” she replies. “I recognize their magic.”

“I have dragon blood?” I say dazedly.

She frowns slightly. “I don’t think so,” she tells me. “If you had even a drop of dragon in you, it would show in your eyes. They’d be like mine.”

“Then how can I read fire?”

“Usually only those with the blood can be flame-readers, but I’ve heard of cases where someone without dragon blood is gifted with the power,” she says. “It’s kind of like a recessive gene, I suppose. But it’s really, really rare: I’ve only ever heard of two or three non-dragons being flame-readers in the whole history of Caerlon.” There’s a small pause, and then she says, “If you don’t mind my asking, what did you see tonight that made you react like you did? What did the boy and girl do?”

“Well…” I swallow, and I’m glad it’s dark out. She won’t see me blushing. “Every time I’ve seen them, they were kissing each other and I never saw their faces.”

“But tonight you saw them?” she prompts me.

“Yes,” I whisper. “It was me and Sage. We melted into each other and turned into a family crest.” I bury my face in my hands as the memory of the lovers in the fire comes back. A fierce wave of longing crashes around in my chest. “It’s been coming on for a while, I think.”

She nods, and through the darkness I see her smiling. “Yep,” she says. “I sensed that earlier in our journey. That drawing was a pretty obvious hint. Even without it, though, I would’ve guessed that you were in love with him: every time you two would be near each other, or even just talking, your eyes gave you away completely.”

“Really?” I say, not sure whether to be happy or horrified about that.

Gwen laughs at my reaction. “Believe me, you weren’t the only one giving it away.”

“Don’t tell him. I want him to hear it from me.”

“Come on, would I do that?” she says. “I will give you one piece of advice, though.”

“What’s that?”

“I know your flame-reading has predicted you and Sage falling in love,” she says, and my whole body tingles at those words. “But remember what he is: a traitor.”

“So?”

“Can he really be relied upon?”

I square my shoulders. “He saved my life today,” I say defiantly. “I believe I can trust him, after he risked his own skin to save a girl who should be an enemy.”

Gwen inclines her head. “Perhaps you’re right,” she murmurs. “In any case, Holly, I’d advise you not to get too close to him until all of this is over.”

“Why not?”

“He could die,” she says simply. “How would you feel if you confessed to Sage and started to get emotionally close to him, and then he was killed before you had the chance to take it any further?”

I don’t answer, but an icy knife seems to pierce my heart. Gwen’s right. If Sage dies on this journey just as we start to get close to one another, the grief would destroy me. But on the other hand, I think, he could also die before I tell him that I love him. I don’t know which would be worse.

Gwen stands and stretches her wings. “I’m going back to camp. You coming?”

“No,” I say. “I think I’ll stay here a little longer.”

“Okay. You think about what I’ve said. It’s really your choice, but just think about it.”

I nod, and she turns and exits the small clearing, leaving me behind her.


	12. The Fire Plains

The next morning, the three of us rise early. Sage whistles for Mallowsweet and Ava, but the horses don’t come. He whistles three more times, but nothing happens.

“Maybe they can’t hear you?” Gwen suggests.

He sighs and shakes his head. “No,” he murmurs, sadness clouding his face. “They came when we stayed with the dwarves, and they were much farther away then. I believe…” He swallows hard. “I believe those lions caught up with them.”

My stomach turns. Mallowsweet, my family’s beloved pet, the old mare that survived so much, is dead. Tears start to well in my eyes, and Sage tenderly puts a hand on my shoulder.

Gwen is the first to speak. “Well, this certainly complicates things,” she says awkwardly. “How are we going to carry this venison?”

I wipe my eyes and walk to my rucksack, cursing my moment of emotional weakness. “Here,” I reply, pulling out one of the skirts I packed. Sage follows my lead, extracting a shirt from his bag. “We can wrap the meat in these.”

“How are we supposed to get to Locrea without our horses?” he asks.

“I don’t think we have any choice but to go on foot,” I sigh. I wrap part of the venison in my skirt as he wraps the remainder of it, and we put it in Sage’s rucksack. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I say flatly, “Come on. We should head out.”

The other two follow me as I face north, using the sun as my guide. Together we start walking through the forest. After about ten minutes of walking, our eyes are met with a grisly sight: horse bones and clumps of hair scattered around a clearing, the leafy ground red with blood. The saddles lie at the clearing’s edge, strips of leather torn away from them, and the remains of a few chewed-over food packages lie among the wreckage. The only things leading away from the clearing are three sets of bloody lion paw prints.

I turn, my eyes burning once more. Gwen and Sage both look sick. “We should keep going,” he says weakly. Gwen and I nod, and we’re once again on our way.

It takes us five days to leave the savanna behind. I perceive a change in the climate the closer we get to the border between the savanna and the Fire Plains. As the harsh landscape appears in our vision, with its volcanoes towering high into the heavens, the air becomes much hotter and heavier. I can see lava exploding into the sky even from our distance. Six days after the loss of Mallowsweet and Ava, we enter the Fire Plains.

The grass had slowly been tapering off the closer we got, but now there’s virtually no grass in sight. Instead, the ground is made of hardened lava, blackened by long exposure to the air, with a few scrubby plants poking out of the rock. Huge cracks in the ground and plates of dried lava, halfway between its original orange and the black of the surrounding rock, show where underground magma pools have leaked. Much like the savanna, the surface of the Fire Plains is sun-baked and steaming, with the only shade being in the shadows of the volcanoes and the occasional scraggly tree. Sweat pours from our faces and from Gwen’s wings as we march forward.

None of us speak until that night, when Sage lightly touches my arm. “How about we stay in there?” he suggests, pointing at the side of one of the smaller volcanoes. I see a cave, a wide black mouth opening into the rock.

“You’re saying we should sleep inside a volcano?” I say, thinking that he’s lost his mind.

Gwen holds up a hand. “Let me check it out,” she says, and she walks toward the cave. Sage and I watch as she puts a clawed hand on the stone. Slowly she walks along the base of the volcano, an intense look of concentration on her face. She runs her hand over the rock on either side of the cave mouth before turning back to us.

“It’s safe to stay here,” she tells us. “This volcano is extinct. It won’t erupt while we’re sleeping in it. Come on.” As we enter the cave, I think that those of dragon descent must have the power to read volcanoes too. After a dinner of venison, I spend a little time doing a sketch of the landscape from the mouth of our volcano cave. It turns out pretty well, because pencils are very suitable for drawing the shadowy mountainsides and dark expanses of stone.

We sleep in the cave and rise early the next morning. Sage leads the way further into the Fire Plains, guided by his compass. We pass a small troop of ragged-looking people in a cave near ours. I notice that all of them have the Mark of the Traitor carved into their cheeks like him.

“More outcasts from Locrea?” I whisper to him.

“Yes,” he replies. “They live here on whatever they can find. Sometimes they rob travelers.”

“Won’t they attack us?” Gwen hisses, eyeing the group warily.

He shakes his head. “I lived with that group briefly on my way to Caerlon. Once they see that you two are with me, they’ll leave us alone.”

As he says those very words, two of the older male outcasts raise their hands in greeting. The closer of the men, who wears a patch over his left eye, shouts, “Prince Sage Langerfelt! You have a wife now, I see!”

The other outcasts laugh as the man with the eye patch points at me. I feel my face burning and force myself to think of ice to stop the blush. Sage is also rather red, and he calls back to the thieves, “No wife, only a friend and traveling companion.”

“Best of luck on your travels!” cries a young woman sitting on the left of the man with the patch. The others applaud, and the three of us round a corner and leave the small group behind. We travel on in peace for a long time.

Then a sound pierces the silence, a sound that makes all of us jump. It’s an earsplitting, shrieking roar that makes the very earth tremble. The only thing I’ve ever heard like it is an eagle cry, but that call is nothing compared to this. Slowly the roar fades, echoing off of the volcanoes.

I turn to the others to see their reactions. Sage is shaking all over, his handsome face pale. “What the _hell _was that?” he gasps.__

“No idea,” I reply, surprised at how calm my voice sounds. “What do you think, Gwen? Gwen?” I turn to see her gazing up at the sky, a look of awe and terror on her face.

It happens so fast that I’m not entirely sure how it happened. A high wind similar to that of a hurricane kicks up, and I hear a leathery flapping. Sage lets out a yell. The next minute, I’m hanging upside-down in the air. Whatever’s holding me has long, golden spiky things on its…paws? Hands? I can’t make up my mind. We’re rising rapidly upward toward a large cluster of volcanoes. I twist my head to the right and see Sage clutched in a second set of curved golden spikes…talons. I hear Gwen’s cries behind me over the wind, and I know that a second creature’s carrying her.

The thing bearing Sage and me rounds one of the volcanoes, and I see a broad ravine spreading out below us. My captor dives straight down into the ravine and I close my eyes, bracing myself for the crash on the jagged rocks. But it never comes: the creature evens its flight as it draws closer to the ground. I feel the very ends of my hair brushing the rocks. The ravine swoops upward, and we follow its path up to an enormous outcrop in the side of another volcano.

Just as I’m starting to feel dizzy from the blood rushing to my head, the creatures drop us unceremoniously into the fine layer of dirt on the outcrop. I look around at my friends. Sage is huddled in a trembling heap, his arms over his head. Gwen, however, is looking up at our captors with an expression of mingled fear and reverence. I imitate her, and feel my jaw drop open.

Two dragons, two huge, hulking dragons, stand on the outcrop with us, gazing at the side of the volcano almost expectantly. The one that carried Sage and me is the same brilliant green as Gwen’s wings, with fine fringes of golden spikes along the back of its neck, the tips of its wings and on its tail. Four sets of golden talons scratch impatiently on the rock. Its eyes are huge and yellow with catlike slits for pupils. The other dragon is the cool blue of a mountain lake, with silver-white spikes and talons. Its eyes are also yellow, with the same pupils.

I watch, amazed, as each dragon reaches over to the volcano and touches a certain spot with its tail. With a great rumbling and crunching, the volcano splits open and then the blue dragon pushes me through the gap with its huge snout.

Evidently this is another extinct volcano: the inside is dimly lit with torches. We’re standing in a huge hall carved inside the lava shaft, and this hall is crowded with yet more dragons. Several are green and blue, like the two that brought us in. However, I also glimpse some white ones, with silver spikes similar to those that the blue dragons have. There’s a single red dragon: its spikes and talons, like the green dragons’, are gold. Every yellow, slit-pupil eye is focused on us as the dragons lumber down to the end of the hall, where a gigantic green dragon perches on a roughly hewn granite throne. Even through my heart-pounding terror, I recognize that this scene would make an incredible drawing.

The dragons bow their heads to the enormous green dragon on the throne. It gazes imperiously at the three of us. “Nymweh, what is this?” it rumbles. From the depth of its voice, I guess that it’s male.

The blue dragon lowers its head. “With all due respect, King Arthyr, we do not know,” Nymweh replies. “Igrayne and I found them just outside the Ring of Fire. We have never seen them on the Fire Plains. What shall we do with them?”

King Arthyr glares at us. “Dispose of them,” he growls. “Our young rarely have such a good meal.”

“Stop!” shrieks Gwen. She leaps to her feet in front of King Arthyr, her head held high. “Do you not see these wings?” she demands, spreading them wide. Several of the other dragons gasp at the sight.

“Yes, I am of your blood!” she cries triumphantly. “I am half dragon!”

King Arthyr narrows his bulbous yellow eyes. “Who were your parents, half-breed?”

“My mother was Hazel Kearney of Caerlon,” Gwen replies. “As for my father, he was Mordryd, prince of the Green Dragons!”

King Arthyr lets out a roar of surprise. “Mordryd, my brother!” he shouts above the other dragons’ cries. “Welcome to the dragons’ territory, Princess Gwennyvirah.”


	13. Gwennyvirah of the Dragons

I become aware that my mouth is hanging open again and close it quickly. Gwen’s a princess? I look over at Sage, amused to see my own shock mirrored in his face. The other dragons sink into bows in front of her. A restless rumbling fills the hall like an avalanche.

King Arthyr glares at his niece, and I can see that he’s still skeptical. “Come, travelers,” he growls, stepping down from his throne. “I wish to hear Gwennyvirah’s story in greater detail.” I take that to mean _I still don’t believe you, _but I follow the dragon king without complaint.__

He leads the way out of the massive cavern and around the volcano to a second, smaller volcano nearby. This one, unlike the one containing the main hall, is active: heat waves shimmer at its base as he goes into a cave in its side. I can hear the low rumble of lava underneath us and in the cavern’s walls. Silently, I pray that the volcano won’t go off during our interview with the dragon king.

King Arthyr curls up on a great stone outcrop covered in deerskins near the back of the cavern. “Sit,” he commands us, and we make ourselves as comfortable as possible on some rocks that have clearly fallen from the walls. He turns his great yellow eyes on us.

“Gwennyvirah,” he says in his low, rumbling growl, “if you truly are the daughter of Mordryd, I shall command my dragons to allow you and your companions to pass through our lands unharmed. First, however, I must be certain of your heritage.” He yawns and says, “Tell me the story of your family.”

“Very well,” replies Gwen. She takes a deep breath and begins her history.

“My mother Hazel Kearney was born to a prominent family in Caerlon,” she says. “When King Dianthus decided to send Caerlonian representatives to the Fire Plains to seek the dragons’ friendship, she was one of the first to volunteer. She was extremely adventurous, and wished to see more of our continent than Caerlon alone. When the party crossed into the Fire Plains, the dragons brought them all to the main hall. Your father Uthyr ruled then, she told me.”

King Arthyr nods. “I recall that parley,” he comments. “King Dianthus wished to have peaceful trade with the dragons and sent the best and brightest of Caerlon to discuss options with us. Hazel Kearney was only a few years older than yourself, Gwennyvirah.”

“The party of Caerlonians stayed with the dragons for several months,” Gwen says. “When they finally left, Hazel stayed behind. She had begun studying dragon magic, and found that she fit into the dragons’ culture much better than she ever had in Caerlon’s. Besides, she had also attracted the attention of your brother, Mordryd, who was heir to King Uthyr’s throne. The dragons were not disturbed by it; interspecies love is not considered a crime here.”

“Oh, I remember,” King Arthyr interjects. “They intended to be married in a dragon ceremony.”

“They even designed a family crest, a dragon wrapped around a woman. But that didn’t work out,” Gwen snarls. I recoil at the dangerous expression on her face. “The faction of Black Dragons, who had long hated King Uthyr and the Green Dragons, rebelled. Mordryd and King Uthyr were slaughtered in the battle, and Hazel was forced to flee the Fire Plains. She was pregnant, and by the time she got back to Caerlon it was beginning to show.”

King Arthyr’s head is bowed with the memory. “What happened to Hazel upon her return?”

Gwen sighs. “She told no one that her child’s father was a dragon, except for Juniper, a close friend of hers who had gone on the parley with her,” she says. “He pretended that he and Hazel had gotten together during the journey, and that the baby was his. Revealing the true parentage to anyone else would have meant a new status as an outcast. Hazel tried to spare both the baby and herself that fate. She discovered, however, that human methods of birth control have no effect on half-breeds.

“So, my mother had no choice but to give birth to me,” she says. “As soon as Hazel’s family saw what I was, knew what she had done, they disowned her. Juniper, my pretend father, suffered a similar fate, but he married Hazel anyway. King Dianthus forbade them from creating a family crest of their own.”

I shiver. Being forbidden from having a crest, or having it taken away, is almost as bad as being branded a traitor. Crests are how families recognize each other as members of our society. If your family has no crest, it’s a sign that you’re a social outcast. No one knows you or where you come from, and if they see you don’t have a crest, no one ever will know you.

“We moved to a cave twenty miles outside of Ramani, Caerlon’s capital,” Gwen presses on. “When I was three, Juniper fell ill with a rare blood disease and died. Hazel raised me by herself after that, teaching me about dragon magic and my real father’s family. Even though we were outcasts, our lives were quite happy.

“Then, when I was eight…” She breaks off, and I’m stunned to see tears in her eyes. I’ve never seen her cry before. “You see, I wasn’t there. If I had been there, Hazel might have made it. Anyway…my mother was out collecting healing herbs for a fever I had. She was attacked by a bear and had no means of defending herself. I buried what was left of her when I found her, two days later. I was left to fend for myself, and I have lived alone in our old cave ever since.”

A ringing silence fills the cavern. I feel my heart twisting with pity for Gwen as she wipes her eyes. King Arthyr bows his golden-spiked head again. “I am sorry to hear that your mother is dead,” he murmurs. “You have proven yourself my kin, and I shall do whatever I can to help you. You and your friends may continue through our territory, and I will provide you with whatever supplies you need.”

We all stand. With a glance, Gwen makes it clear that Sage and I are not to talk to her about this story. “Thank you for admitting us, King Arthyr,” she murmurs. “We shall accept your offer of supplies.”

Twenty minutes later, the three of us leave the great circle of volcanoes that make up the Ring of Fire. We’re laden with lumps of deer meat and a few scraggly rabbits. Sage and I have both replenished our stocks of healing herbs. As King Arthyr promised, the dragons don’t disturb us again. In fact, they see us to the edge of dragon territory. We cross the rest of the Fire Plains without trouble.

Then we reach it: the border between the Fire Plains and Locrea.


	14. The Langerfelt Castle

Gwen, Sage and I agree that the best time to enter Locrea is at night. “Ajareen is closer to the border than Ramani is from Caerlon’s border. I think it should take us about three days to get there on foot,” Sage says.

“Since it’s clear who you are, I suggest we travel through the countryside at night as well,” I comment. The other two agree, and Sage faces the border between the Fire Plains and his old homeland.

Smiling knowingly, Gwen mutters something about going to find fresh game and leaves the two of us alone. I can see through that excuse. We still have plenty of meat left from the dragons. However, I appreciate my friend’s tactfulness.

Quietly, I put down my sketchpad and walk over to Sage’s side. The wind rustles softly through the long grass in the distance, reminding me of my family’s farm. “I haven’t seen this place since I was seventeen,” he murmurs. Then he lets out a rueful chuckle and adds, “When I left two years ago, I never dreamed I would come back to steal.”

I take his hand. “I wish I could say something to you now,” I say gently, “but everything I can think of sounds so fake.”

He smiles at me. “I appreciate the intent,” he says. For a moment, we stand in silence.

Then my hands act of their own accord. As if through another person’s eyes, I see them make their way up to his shoulders and start to rub them. I can feel the tension under my hands start to loosen, and he sighs softly. The silence is so absolute that the whole world seems to be holding its breath, waiting to see what we do next.

I let my hands drop from his shoulders. “I…I think I’ll go keep an eye on the fire,” I mumble, even though both of us know that Gwen’s charms will keep the fire in line without our help. I start to turn away.

But Sage seizes my hand and spins me back around. There’s a wild look on his handsome face as he pulls me close to him. Our eyes lock, brown boring deeply into green, before he bends his head and places his lips on mine. My God, it’s delicious, even better than my mother’s corn chili on a cold winter’s night. I feel blissfully unaware of my surroundings as we kiss. He’s the only real thing left in this insane world, his hands in my hair and his warmth…

He breaks away from me and holds me close to him, kissing the side of my head. “I love you, Holly,” he whispers into my hair.

“I love you too, Sage,” I reply, lifting my head so that I look directly into his face. We kiss again, swaying on the spot.

“I was afraid I’d reveal myself before either of us was ready,” he stammers.

I laugh. “Part of me suspected… _hoped _that you loved me,” I confess. “I didn’t want to get my hopes up in case you didn’t love me, but you do, and – ”__

He cuts me off, placing a hand on my lips. There’s a brilliant smile on his face. “Stop babbling and kiss me again.” I obey him willingly, wrapping my arms tightly around him, pulling him closer to me so quickly that we fall into the grass. Tenderly, he moves me onto my back and lies above me, his hands caressing my face and hips. Ah, it’s heaven, the crackling of the fire and the smell of Sage’s dark hair and this sweet kiss – 

“Ahem.”

Gwen’s voice comes out of nowhere, making us fly apart. She’s carrying two scrawny rabbits by the hind legs, and she’s grinning broadly. “I wondered when you two would finally fess up,” she says, tearing the hide off of one of the rabbits and impaling it on a stick. Slowly, Sage and I stagger back to our feet.

“Wait,” I say, suspicion starting to steal over me. “Do you mean…”

“Both of you told me,” she finally bursts out, laughing. “Both of you told me about your burning passions, separately, and made me swear not to say anything. So I didn’t.”

Sage and I glance at each other, half in wonder and half in embarrassment. “Well, now there’s no more secrets to be kept,” I say happily. We join Gwen by the fire.

“I only have one request,” she says. “When I’m around, keep the touchy-feely stuff to a minimum, please.” Sage rolls his eyes, but he and I both agree.

Gwen’s patience, however, is not to be tested much over the next three days. We’re crossing Locrea, and everyone’s mental efforts have to be focused on getting through the countryside safely. Sage tells Gwen and me that Locrea’s head wizard, Lungwort, keeps a store of ice rosemary in his quarters of the castle. “We can sneak in, grab the ice rosemary and run for it,” he says. “Lungwort’s quarters are right off of the main entrance to the castle, so with any luck, we won’t have to go very far into the grounds at all.”

Three nights after the kiss, Sage brings us into Ajareen. Stone walls hide the Langerfelt castle from view, and ragged people moan softly in the darkness as we pass by, pleading for gold or food. All of our faces are hidden underneath dark hoods, and Gwen has folded her wings as tightly as possible against her back. Sage leads us down dark, twisting alleys, occasionally giving my hand a comforting squeeze. Twice we have to flatten ourselves against building walls, blending into the shadows, to avoid the torchlight from watchful night patrolmen.

He makes one final right turn and we walk down yet another alley that ends at a blank stretch of castle wall. “Here,” he whispers, gesturing at a certain stone in the wall. “This stone is loose. It’s how I used to get out of the grounds.” When Gwen and I both eye the stone apprehensively, he says softly, “Trust me.”

“I do,” I reply, and Gwen nods. Sage unsheathes his sword and inserts it into the crack between the loose stone and the piece next to it. After a few tense minutes of wriggling, he manages to pull the stone far out enough to grab it and remove it completely. I peer into the gap and see a long, pitch-black tunnel leading into the wall. Smiling encouragingly at us, he crawls through first. I follow, with Gwen bringing up the rear.

The passage is barely big enough for us to squeeze through. Crawling on our hands and knees, we follow the twisting tunnel deep into the castle wall. I lose track of how long we’ve been crawling, and I don’t realize when the passage comes to an end. I bump into Sage, making him grunt softly. “Sorry,” I mutter.

“Shh!” he whispers. Moonlight is shining into the tunnel through what appears to be a grate above us. Gwen and I hold our breath, waiting.

Then I hear footsteps. The light coming through the grate is taking on a golden color now and growing brighter. Sage backs out of the light’s path, forcing us to move with him. Petrified, I watch as torchlight shines through the grate and listen to a night watchman speaking. “All looks clear here, Uncum,” shouts a gruff voice.

“Shall we turn in, then?” comes Uncum’s distant answer.

“Yeah.” My heart throbs as I listen to the two men walking away, their boots echoing off of what sounds like stone. Soon silvery moonlight is flooding through the grate again.

Sage crawls back to the grate and puts his face close to the bars. “All right,” he whispers. “The coast is clear. Let’s go.”


	15. Ice Rosemary

Sage places his long hands on the grate and jiggles it. The crunch of metal striking stone is as loud as a cannon blast to my nervous ears. “Once I get it loose, we can get out of this tunnel,” he whispers to Gwen and me. We nod as he gives a push and the grate swings open.

He hoists himself out of the hole and then bends down to help pull us through. When I straighten up, I look around. We’re in a great stone courtyard. No plants grow anywhere in sight, and a blank wall surrounds us on all sides. Heavy wooden doors and open-air passageways lead into the castle walls and the surrounding land.

“Where are we?” Gwen hisses uneasily to Sage.

“This is the formal entrance to my father’s castle,” he replies softly, drawing his hood closer around him. “If I remember correctly, the first door on our left leads into Lungwort’s quarters.”

“I certainly hope you remember correctly,” she growls as we set off toward the door. “We’re all dead meat if we get caught, including you.”

I can see Sage’s body tense at her words. “Gwen, please don’t stress him out any more,” I murmur. She grumbles, but she falls silent.

He puts a hand on the brass door handle and pulls, but the door remains firmly shut. “I forgot Lungwort always locked the door to his quarters,” he mumbles apologetically.

“Oh, move over,” sighs Gwen. She steps up to the door and says, “This door doesn’t open directly onto Lungwort’s bedroom or something, does it?”

“No.”

“Good.” She takes a deep breath and exhales a stream of fire. As soon as the flame touches the wood, she raises her left hand and moves it in a circle, muttering another dragon spell. Instead of spreading, the fire twists itself into a circle in the middle of the door. It burns inward on itself until a hole big enough for us to walk through has been created. As I step into the dark passageway, I see that the edges of the door are still intact.

Sage feels around on the wall and detaches an unlit torch from the nearest bracket. Gwen lights it for him, and he motions for us to follow him. He leads us down the hall, and we all step as softly as we can on the flagged stone floor. More doors lead off of our hallway, and I hear snoring coming from one of them. Even though our torch burns brightly, its light doesn’t go very far. The darkness in here is heavier than normal darkness, and I distinctly think it’s bewitched. This awareness of magic all around us, pressing down on us, gives me the shivers.

Sage puts out a hand to stop us. He points at the wooden door directly to our right, mouthing the word _here. _Gwen nods and sets the door on fire, using her magic to control the blaze and adding a second spell that silences the crackling of the flames. When there’s a hole for us, we step through the door into a room full of bottles and dried herbs. A stone cauldron big enough for all of us to sit in takes up most of the floor space. The potion inside it is a sick yellow, and it bubbles and seethes dangerously.__

I turn to see Sage inserting the torch into a bracket. I can just make out his and Gwen’s faces underneath their hoods. They’re both pale. “Spread out and start searching,” he mutters over the yellow potion’s sluggish bubbling. “Once you see some ice rosemary, grab as much as you can carry and let’s get out of here.”

I set to work, shifting bottles and flasks aside as quietly as I can. Several times, I have to stifle a cry: I’ve never seen magical ingredients such as these. There’s an owlet’s wing, a jar of tiny black newts’ eyes, a long string of wolf teeth and once, what looks horribly like the finger of a newborn human baby. Briefly I wonder what on earth Lungwort makes with such ingredients.

Then I see it at the back of the shelf. There’s a bundle of a plant that looks and smells like rosemary. Just as Elder said, the leaves are purest white. When I pull it out, it’s cool to the touch. “I found it!” I whisper ecstatically, holding it up so that my companions can see.

“Great!” Sage hisses, beaming at me. “Let’s get going before…” His voice trails off and he’s staring in terror at a point above my shoulder. I turn around and almost drop the ice rosemary out of fright.

A twelve-foot-long cobra is coiled on a shelf just above me, its head raised. Its black hood is fanned and it’s hissing in a way that tells me it’s not in a good mood.

“That’s not just any old cobra,” Sage whispers. “Lungwort used to breed cobras with incredibly powerful venom. It kills within seconds. Whatever you do, Holly, get away from it slowly.”

I start to back away, clutching the rosemary like a lifeline. But before I’ve taken more than a few steps, the cobra lunges. I can’t stop the scream from escaping my mouth as the great black snake hurtles toward me. There’s a swish and a blinding flash as the blade of Sage’s sword shines in the torchlight, and the cobra’s head spins through the air. It lands in the cauldron with a disgusting splash and the liquid inside instantly turns a vivid, poisonous blue.

Yells and shouts ring out from the distance. When I turn to Sage, his face is taut with fear. “RUN!” he cries, hurtling back into the passageway without even grabbing the torch. Gwen and I blunder into the darkness after him, bumping into the walls and each other as we run. I hear banging and clanking behind us, and I know that my scream has woken up every soldier in the castle.

The three of us burst into the stone courtyard and tear across it toward the grate. But we’re too late: door after door flies open around us and crowds of people come rushing in, soldiers and servants alike. We’re totally surrounded. Ready to fight to the death, I lash my bullwhip at the nearest soldier, knocking his mace out of his hand. “Gwen, your fire!” I shriek.

Brilliant orange flames race through the vast crowd, scattering them, and we have a moment of relief as Sage and I face those remaining with our weapons. Then servants carrying buckets of water appear out of nowhere and drench the entire courtyard, extinguishing the flames. Another servant soaks Gwen with his bucket and a look of horror comes onto her face as she spits out a mouthful of water. She tries to breathe more fire, but nothing happens. I suddenly understand that getting water in her mouth must disable it.

A mesh net soars through the night sky, heavy metal weights attached to the ends, and lands on top of us. The weight of the metal forces me to the ground. I hang on to the ice rosemary with one arm and grasp Sage’s hand with my free one, feeling sick with fear.

“What is going on here?” A smooth, cold voice comes out of the darkness. The soldiers and servants instantly fall silent, and I feel Sage’s hand trembling within mine. The man’s identity strikes me with the force of a charging bull: this can only be King Yew, his father.

“Thieves, Your Majesty,” growls one of the soldiers nearest me. He’s very powerfully built, and I can see by the torchlight that his face is broad and pockmarked. “They were inside Lungwort’s chambers. This one,” he says, nudging me with his foot, “is holding some ice rosemary, it looks like.”

“Let me see them,” commands the Locrean king. The net is hauled away and a pair of male hands hoists me to my feet by the neck of my cloak. King Yew’s boots strike the stones as he approaches me. My hood makes a soft swooshing noise as he rips it back.

King Yew’s dark, shrewd eyes are the exact shade of brown as his son’s but without a trace of Sage’s warmth. “Ah, a feminine thief, are we?” he growls. “What’s your name, girl?”

“Holly,” I reply, trying to inject bravery into my voice. “Holly Phoenix.”

“Well, Holly, do not think that your gender will make us any more merciful.” As the king passes me, I see the pockmarked soldier staring at me, a look of blatant greed on his face, and I barely suppress a shudder.

Gwen is inspected next. When King Yew tries to touch her, she lets out a screech and rips her arm from the grasp of the soldier holding her. Her claws narrowly miss the king’s eyes. “Chain this one!” he roars in fury. “In fact, chain all of them for good measure.” Two other soldiers move forward and chain both my and Gwen’s hands behind our backs. Then the king removes Sage’s hood.

There’s a general uproar as the soldiers and servants recognize their former prince. Eyes flick to King Yew to see his reaction. He appears to have been rendered temporarily speechless. Sage looks directly into the king’s eyes, the torchlight illuminating the Mark of the Traitor on his face. “Hello, Father,” he says icily.

The word _father _seems to shake King Yew out of his silence. His face is flushing rapidly, and I can see him shaking with rage. He slaps Sage across the face, hard, and the sound goes through me like physical pain. “You dare,” King Yew yells, spit flying from his mouth,_ “you dare_ befoul me with that word? You are no son of mine, filthy traitor!” Sage doesn’t answer, staring at the king with contempt.

“Put the girls in the dungeons,” King Yew orders his soldiers. “As for the boy, Uncum can take him to the torture chamber. I would like to have a little man-to-man talk with him.”

“No!” I shriek. With a massive effort, I tear myself free of my captor’s clutches. I stand in front of Sage, shielding him from the king, the laughter from the surrounding crowd ringing in my ears. “No, don’t take Sage, please!”

“Stand aside, foolish girl,” snarls King Yew. “I will have none but that boy.”

“I won’t!” I cry. I have no idea what he’s thinking about doing, but I do know that I can’t leave Sage alone with him if I can help it. “You can have me, take me instead!”

“I said, _stand aside!” _Now the king’s hand meets my face, and I fall to the ground with a cry and hit my elbow on the stone. One of the guards kicks me in the stomach and I double up in agony, groaning. Another kick strikes my chest, and I actually scream as pain so acute that it feels like fire shoots through my body.__

“Leave her alone!” Sage roars, and I can hear him struggling. His guard throws him down beside me and kicks him too. I feel Sage crawl over to me and turn my head forcefully so that I’m looking at him. Our lips meet, and I taste blood from one of our mouths, I can’t tell which.

“Get them down to the dungeons!” King Yew orders, and a rough pair of hands seizes me by the hair and drags me away from Sage. Shrieking in pain, I whirl around and see with a rush of horror that the hands belong to the pockmarked soldier. I kick and writhe as much as I can, but to no avail. The guards start to march Gwen and me away.

“SAGE!” I scream, fear thundering through me so fast it makes me dizzy. “NO!”

I hear him crying my name back to me as the other soldiers close around him. But then our captors shunt us into the castle, and I lose sight of him as the door slams behind us.


	16. The Dungeon

Gwen and I are forced down a series of tightly spiraling staircases. The guards leading us seem gleeful at King Yew’s rage. “I hope we’ll be able to get down to the torture chamber in time,” sneers the second guard. As we pass a torch, I see that his face is scrawny and narrow like a rat’s.

“I think we will, Bramble,” replies my escort. “I’ve never seen King Yew so bent on torturing someone. Should be a good show, eh, beautiful?”

I don’t answer. I’m so terrified of him and for Sage that I feel sick. He stops in the stairwell, and his hand slides down my arm and starts caressing me in a most indecent place. Unpleasant chills shudder down my spine. “Maybe King Yew will let me have you in return for throwing the net. You’re young and pretty, and I think I could help you learn to be an excellent lover.”

“Easy, Teasel,” says Bramble, though his voice is quivering with laughter. “She looks like she’s married, she’s got a band.”

“Probably her mother’s. She looks too young to be married already. But what do you think, my lovely?” jeers Teasel, now stroking my waist. He presses his massive nose into my hair, and his breath tickles my ear as he murmurs, “I reckon there won’t be much left of your boyfriend once the king’s through with him. So why not just give it up and take me instead?”

White-hot rage leaps like a flame in my stomach, and I raise my right foot and rake it as hard as I can down his leg. He lets out a howl of pain that echoes around the stairwell and nearly drops me down a flight of stairs. “I’d rather be married to a rotten corpse than to a monster like you,” I spit at him.

Teasel laughs as we reach the foot of the stairs. “Oh, she has as much fire in her as the half-breed!” he chuckles. “I do love a woman with a spirit.”

The guards march Gwen and me down a damp, torch-lit hall. Bars on the doors tell me that we’ve reached the Langerfelt castle’s dungeon. As we pass the cells, I can hear the low moans of prisoners inside. Rats and cockroaches scurry at our feet and up the dripping walls. My heart’s pounding and my knees are trembling. What’s King Yew going to do to Sage?

“Here we are,” grunts Bramble. We’ve arrived at an empty cell near the end of the dungeon. As he unlocks the door, I catch sight of a few dirty, ragged blankets lying in a far corner. Then the door is yanked open, and next thing I know I’m sprawled flat on the cold stone floor.

“Prime lodgings, beautiful,” sneers Teasel, removing the chains. “This cell is right underneath the torture chamber. You’ll be able to hear your boyfriend’s dying breaths.”

In spite of myself, I let out a moan of fear. What if King Yew does kill Sage tonight? Bramble and Teasel both laugh ruthlessly as they slam the cell door shut. I stagger to my feet, blood pounding in my head, and yell after them through the bars, “Let him go! Let him go, you sick, twisted hellhounds!”

Gwen gently leads me away from the door. “Holly, it’s no use,” she murmurs.

I turn to face my friend. Her face is whiter than I’ve ever seen it, and her yellow eyes are wide. “Gwen,” I say desperately, “King Yew wouldn’t kill his own son, would he?”

“I don’t know,” she replies shakily.

At that moment, a dreadful scream rings out directly above our heads. I hear the cracking of more than one whip. I start to race around the cell, staring wildly around for any way out, all of my reason gone. “SAGE!” I scream at the ceiling. “SAGE!”

“Holly, quiet!” Gwen gasps. She seizes me around the middle and pulls me to the ground, into the filthy blankets. “Don’t let them hear you, that’s what they want: to know they’re getting to you!”

I pay her words no attention. I don’t particularly care if King Yew and his henchmen hear me. All I care about is the terrible, drawn-out wails of the boy above me. “SAGE!” I scream again, before Gwen’s clawed hand clamps over my mouth. Now we can hear what King Yew is shouting.

“What were you here for, boy?” his voice roars. “You were stealing ice rosemary, so tell me why! Tell me, or I swear I shall whip you until you are dead! I care not that you are my son, you will tell me why you want that plant!”

“Never!” shouts Sage. The whips crack again, and his yells of pain tear at my eardrums. I thrash and kick like a madwoman, fighting tooth and nail to get loose, but Gwen’s grip is too strong. Her claws scratch my face as I struggle. I keep screaming into her hand, tears now spilling freely from my eyes as Sage’s agonized cries continue. To my horror, his yells are growing fainter by the minute.

Finally, when the only sound to be heard is the cracking of the whips, I stop fighting: I let my whole body go limp against Gwen, exhaustion getting the best of me as I sob into her hand. My veins feel like they’re full of ice. What’s happened? Why has Sage gone quiet?

“Take him away,” King Yew snarls. “I shall take one of the girls next.”

“Now, Your Majesty?” says Bramble’s voice.

“Later, tomorrow perhaps,” the king replies. “Maybe one of them will be wise enough to talk. As for this,” there’s the sound of a foot against flesh, “I will test his resolve again if he regains consciousness.”

I feel Gwen shudder, and I let out a muffled cry of horror. What does King Yew mean, if? Surely Sage isn’t…no. I can’t let myself think that.

Distant footsteps are coming down the stairs. There’s grunting, as if whomever’s coming to the dungeons is carrying a heavy load. Gwen finally releases me, and I leap to my feet. The two of us watch as the cell door opens and Teasel and Bramble throw Sage into the cell. The door makes a deafening clang as the guards shut and lock it once more. I collapse on the stone beside Sage, and what I see makes another scream of fury explode from my mouth.

His shirt is tattered and soaked with blood. Long sets of four scratches each crisscross his back, and I know that King Yew used a four-tongued whip. His white face stands out in sharp contrast to the brilliant scarlet of his blood, and his dark eyes are closed. I heave him onto what’s left of his back, breathing a prayer as I reach beneath his shirt and lay a hand on his chest. Yes, that’s got to be a heartbeat under my hand. But how many more beats that heart will have, I have no idea.

Gwen helps me drag him over to the pile of blankets. Carefully, we lay him down. I can’t tear my eyes away from his pale face and bloody shirt, as much as I want to shut this sight out forever. Trembling, my shoulders heaving with sobs, I creep up to kneel beside his head. Gwen remains sitting by his feet, and I lift him into my arms.

About five minutes later, Teasel returns with a loaf of stale bread and a pitcher of water. He also has the three rucksacks, which he throws carelessly into the cell. I spare a death glare for him as he sets the food and drink down in a corner. He takes one look at Sage and me and a sneer twists his pockmarked face before he shuts the door again.

“Give me that water,” I say hoarsely to Gwen. The calmness in my own voice stuns me. She puts the pitcher at my side, and I lay Sage down on the blankets, turning him carefully onto his stomach and rolling up his shirt so I can see the damage. The sight of the raw flesh, cut away by the whips as though a huge cat had raked its claws across his back, makes my skin crawl and my stomach contract. Without further ado, I rip off two pieces of my skirt and soak them in the mercifully cold water. I use one of them to wipe the blood off of the cuts. I save the other one for wringing water onto Sage’s head in the hopes that its coldness will wake him up.

My plan works. After a minute or two, he lets out a low groan. I drop the bloody skirt fragment and bend low over him, my heart hammering madly in my chest. “Sage, Sage, can you hear me? Please, love, say something,” I beg him softly.

He groans again in response. Blearily, he opens his eyes. “Holly?”

“Yes,” I gasp, relief sweeping powerfully over me. I roll Sage back over and lay my head on his chest, relishing the sound of his heart beating inside it. “Oh, Sage, thank God.”

He musters enough strength to lift his arm. His hand lands heavily on my head and strokes my hair lovingly. “Shh,” he soothes me. “I’m all right, Holly.”

I raise my head and start to kiss him. I touch my lips to his cheeks, his forehead, his neck, and my tears mingle with his. Then I firmly put my mouth on his, my hair falling like a curtain across our faces. I can hear him sigh quietly as I kiss him.

“Are you okay? What about Gwen?” he rasps.

“We’re both fine,” Gwen replies shortly, pushing the rag back into my hand. “It’s you we’ve got to worry about, so shut up and let Holly clean your cuts.”

He laughs weakly and I crawl off of him. “I need to take another look at your back,” I say softly, trying not to let my voice shake. “The bleeding should’ve stopped by now.” He nods, and we roll him back onto his stomach. Aside from a tiny grunt, he shows no sign of discomfort.

I yank my bag over and pull it open. Unfortunately, the Locreans have emptied it of everything useful: the only things they left were my sketchpad and pencils. I suppose they thought drawing materials wouldn’t be of much help to someone locked in a dungeon. I pick up the piece of my skirt and press it against Sage’s wounds, which are still bleeding slightly. This time, he lets out a low moan of pain, his face buried in the dirty blankets.

“I know, I know,” I choke, blinking back more tears. “It won’t be long before the bleeding stops, it’s almost done.” I run my spare hand through his thick dark hair, soothing him.

Gwen lays her hand beside mine. “Hold him,” she says. “I’ll keep the scratches covered.” I crawl back to Sage’s head. He opens his eyes and smiles faintly at me. “Can you lift your head?” I ask him.

“I think so,” he murmurs. Slowly, he raises his head so that I can put it in my lap. “Sing something, Holly,” he says quietly.

I stroke his hair and cheek, trying to think of a good song. I may be able to draw, but I’m not much of a musician. Then I remember a lullaby that Mother used to sing to me, a little ballad about a nightingale that falls in love with a blue jay and uses her music to entrance him. It’s this lullaby that I sing to him, my voice quavering with a gentle vibrato on the longer notes. Soon his breathing deepens and evens, and he falls asleep in my arms.

Gwen looks up at me. Her yellow eyes are filled with tears. “My mother used to sing that to me,” she says softly. “You sing beautifully, Holly.”

I dip my head in thanks. “You go to sleep,” I whisper. “I’ll keep an eye on him.” She nods and curls up nearby, folding her wings around her. I stay awake all night, watching over my companions, listening to the song of the nightingale in my head.


	17. King Yew's Proposition

The tortures continue steadily for a week. I volunteer myself the day after our capture. King Yew tries a different tack with me: he has his soldiers heat olive oil over the fire until it bubbles and then dunk my hands in it. Even though it burns like hell, I don’t scream. Compared to whips, this isn’t so bad. Gwen can heal my burned hands easily with her dragon magic.

Sage has barely made any improvements when King Yew takes him out to be tortured again. Seeing Sage in pain is worse than anything the Locreans can do to me physically, and the king seems to guess this. After the hot oil, he doesn’t take me out for torturing a second time. Instead, he cycles between the others, taking Sage whenever he can. I spend many nights awake, helping tend the wounds they inflict on him: whip scratches, burns, bruises, and once, deep cuts from red-hot swords.

My main roles quickly become those of caretaker and healer, which would be hard enough on an adequate supply of food and water for all three of us. I battle with my own body, fighting exhaustion and malnutrition to keep the others alive. They help whenever they’re lucid enough, but the burden falls mostly on me. When I have the time and strength, I add more sketches to my visual journal of our mission. I complete details of the bread and water pitcher, a rendering of Sage and Gwen lying injured on the blankets and a drawing of my own hand and Mother’s marriage band. The bones in my hands are slowly starting to show.

Then I get a surprise from King Yew. I’m tending to some sword gashes on Gwen’s wings, watched by Sage, who suffered another lashing with the four-tongued whip the day before. Teasel stumps down to our cell, and I hurriedly stuff the wet skirt pieces underneath my unconscious friend’s wing as he unlocks the door. The Locreans can’t know that I’m actively healing the other champions.

Teasel hauls me to my feet. He pushes me into the cell wall and his meaty hands perform their routine wandering task, fingering my breasts and tickling my now visible ribs. I shudder as his breath, which reeks of garlic, oozes up my nose before he kisses my dirty neck and forces his tongue between my lips. It takes all of my self-control to not slap him across the face. I only put up with this abuse because I know that Sage and Gwen would pay for any resistance I give.

“Get your filthy paws off of Holly,” Sage snarls at him, moving unsteadily forward. He simply separates from me and kicks Sage in the shins, which is enough to make him fall over.

“Leave him alone,” I whisper through dry lips.

Teasel laughs derisively. “And what could you possibly do to me if I don’t?” he jeers at me. “Anyway, beautiful, King Yew wishes to speak with you. In private.”

I narrow my eyes. “What about?”

“Like I’d tell you if I knew,” he growls. “Now come on.” He pushes me out of the cell, slamming the door in Sage’s frightened face. We make our way out of the bowels of the Langerfelt castle and walk through long stone corridors lined with suits of armor.

When we reach King Yew’s throne room, Teasel throws me to my knees before the Locrean king. I glare into his cold, dark brown eyes. “What do you want with me?” I snarl.

The king surveys me haughtily. “You may wait outside, Teasel, until we are through here,” he says, and the brute stumps out of the throne room. King Yew stares at me again for a moment before addressing me. “I wish to make you a proposition, Holly Phoenix.”

“What sort of proposition?” I ask suspiciously.

“Well,” says King Yew, settling himself ostentatiously on his throne, “I have been considering setting the three of you free.”

I don’t believe my ears. The Locrean king, have mercy on we three prisoners? There’s got to be some kind of loophole, but I decide to play dumb for now. “Really?”

“Yes,” replies King Yew, a cold smile twisting his face. “But naturally, you must prove yourselves worthy of my mercy. You, Holly, may challenge me to a game of chess. If you win, all three of you shall be set free and allowed to take the ice rosemary you attempted to steal.”

“And if I lose?” I ask.

“Then you will watch the other two prisoners die,” King Yew says.

I arrange my face into what I hope is a politely curious expression. “What’ll be my fate if I lose?”

“Teasel harbors great desires for you. He has told me so himself,” he replies smoothly. There’s a smirk on his face, as if he knows that Teasel’s been making it a point to sexually abuse me whenever he brings our food and water. “If you lose the chess game, I will give you to him as a wife. He deserves a prize for laying hold on you with that net of his.”

I force myself not to shudder. The prospect of freedom for all of us is wonderful, but the thought of marrying Teasel, the man who practically rapes me every morning, is just as repellant. “I’ll think about it,” I tell the king delicately.

“Good. Send word about your decision with Teasel or Bramble this evening.” The king claps his hands once, and Teasel returns into the throne room. He then takes me back to the cell.

Sage immediately takes my hands when I sit down beside him. Gwen’s still unconscious. “What did he want, Holly?” he growls.

I relate the whole story to him. The more of it I tell, the more horrified he looks. When I mention the part about marrying Teasel if I lose, he holds me against his chest. “No,” he croaks. “You can’t marry that brute. I’ll go and talk to King Yew, and perhaps he’ll let me play him instead.”

“There’s no hope in that,” I answer, lifting my face to his. “If he can torture his own son almost to the point of death, what makes you think he’ll listen to a request from you?” When he doesn’t answer, I say, “The king won’t have anyone but me.”

He seems to realize that arguing with me is pointless, so he nods. The expression on his face is appropriate to one agreeing to the date of his own execution. I send Bramble up to King Yew to tell him I’ve accepted the challenge. We’re scheduled to play each other tomorrow. When Gwen finally comes round, we fill her in.

After she’s fallen asleep, I lie down in Sage’s arms. I kiss him tenderly, enjoying the sweetness of his mouth. “Mmm…Holly…” he sighs.

I pull the strings on his tunic, opening it slightly so that I can stroke his chest. The meager food has been taking its toll on him too: I can see his ribs if I look down his shirt. “I love you,” I tell him softly.

He gives me a small squeeze. “Are you absolutely sure you don’t want me to talk to King Yew?” he whispers. “I might be able to help.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” I reply, placing a finger on his cracked lips. “It has to be me. Maybe, if I lose, I can use Teasel’s influence with King Yew to get him to spare you and Gwen.”

“Maybe,” he mutters, but I can tell he’s humoring me. He stifles a yawn behind his hand.

“You sleep,” I whisper in his ear. “I’ll stay here with you.”

He shifts slightly, pressing me closer to him. As I kiss his face and neck, he says quietly, “What if sleeping is the last thing I’ve got on my mind?”

Before I can answer, he lifts my head and returns my kisses with a fierce passion. We roll sideways into the dirty blankets, our bodies twisting around each other, and he moves me onto my back. I let out a funny sound like a whimper as he strokes my arm, reaches down and runs his hand along my waist. His caresses are respectful and loving, the exact opposite of Teasel’s. I feel his hand inching up, sliding beneath my shirt.

A noise halfway between a sigh and a moan escapes my mouth as his hand squeezes my breast. He’s shaking, murmuring my name between kisses, his hand warm on my skin. Each time he says my name, the intensity in his voice heightens. “My sweet Holly…” He lifts my shirt. Oh, God, now he’s actually kissing my breasts, his hair brushing against my skin. The feeling of it sends soft waves of delight rippling through my whole body.

I grab the sides of his head and pull him closer to me. “Shit,” I gasp, and he laughs and places his mouth firmly around my breast. His mouth is warm too, just like his hands, warm and soft and gentle. This is better than anything I’ve ever felt, and I make another funny sound without really thinking about it, a low moan that I never would’ve imagined I could make.

“Oh, Sage…” I wrap both my arms and legs around him like a vine growing around a tree, bend my head and bury my face in his hair. Anything, anything at all, to get him closer.

Then, slowly, Sage starts to push my skirt up my legs. Dimly I register that now I’m shaking too. His fingers stroke my leg gently, sliding up my calf and then my thigh, lighter than silk. “You’re so beautiful,” he sighs. I’ve never had a man speak to me with such reverence.

I reach down and touch his face. “Thank you,” I murmur. Then he bends his head and presses his lips against the inside of my thigh. God, it feels so good…slowly, he crawls back above me and his weight pushes me down into the blankets. I let out another low moan as his tongue strokes my neck, my head actually spinning with pleasure. Surely I’m going to go crazy with these feelings, either go crazy or die right here from wanting him…

“Holly, I love you and I want you,” he says quietly, his head resting on my chest. “Please, let’s have sex.”

I hesitate. Every part of my being is screaming to say yes, to say that I’ll let him do whatever he wants with me. I’ve never longed so much for something as I long for Sage now. I would kill if it meant that I could have him, if I could know every inch of his body. But what would the Locreans do to him if we got caught? I don’t really give a damn what they’d do to me, but I want to protect Sage as much as I can.

Perhaps he knows what I’m thinking, because he goes on. “What if one of us dies here?” he asks, and I hear a tremble in his voice. “We would never have had the chance. Please, Holly.”

How can I deny him? “I want you too, Sage,” I whisper. “Take me, my darling.”

He lets out a whimper and kisses me again. His tongue slides between my lips and chases mine as he pushes my skirt all the way up. My legs look pale as marble in the dim light from torches outside our cell. I can feel something between my legs, a strange dampness that I’ve never felt before. I close my eyes as Sage rolls off of me and stands up, moving slightly away from me. I stand too, and the cell is silent save for the whisper of our clothes sliding across our bodies. Naked, I sit on the blankets and wait for him to rejoin me.

He does, lying on his back and taking me in his arms. I can feel the dark hair on his chest, tickling my skin. “Sage?” I whisper.

“Yes?”

“I…I’ve never had sex,” I say, looking away from him in embarrassment. “I just thought I should tell you that I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

Sage turns my face back to his. He’s smiling, a little sheepishly, and his face is flushed. “I’ve never had sex either,” he admits. “So I also don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Well, then, I suppose we’ll figure it out as we go along,” I stammer as I get on all fours above him. He chuckles and kisses my hand, slipping my fingers inside his mouth, and I stroke his shoulders and his chest. His muscles ripple underneath me, smooth and supple, as he puts his hands on my hips, drawing me closer.

“Ready?” he whispers.

All I can do is nod. I’m expecting it to hurt, but I’m wrong: his young, strong body slides easily and painlessly into me, and I moan again as I open around him, accepting him. “Holly…” Sage murmurs, rocking me sweetly back and forth. His deep, slow thrusts penetrate me, pushing into the slippery wetness between my thighs. He echoes my soft moans with each thrust: “Holly, I love you…”

“My love,” I gasp, lying down on top of him, pushing my hips down to him, driving him further into me. Shit, he’s so good…it sure as hell feels like he knows what he’s doing. “Please, please, get deeper inside me…”

“Like this?” he asks, smiling and giving another powerful, delicious thrust. More follow, slightly shorter and faster than in the beginning, creating a steady rhythm, a pulse that binds us together. My next words, alternating between gasps and moans, also fall into the rhythm of our bodies’ movements.

“Mmmmm…yes… _yes…” _I don’t even really know what I’m saying anymore, all that matters is that we don’t stop…__

“Holly, my darling…” Abruptly, he rolls onto his stomach, guiding me so that I move with him. His thrusts come harder than ever before, and I feel him sinking into me, his weight pressing me down into the blankets. I seize his hips and pull in time with his thrusts, helping him, welcoming him ever deeper into my body. I let out a giggle, and he laughs with me as we make love in the darkness.

Sex actually doesn’t take as long as I thought it does. Twenty minutes later, we’ve reached the breaking point. Sage is lying above me, gasping for air, still trembling from when the two of us came. I close my eyes again, remembering the sheer force with which his seed exploded into me. Remembering how it sent me into a wild transport of ecstasy of my own. I imagine I can feel that seed, a warm river of life, flowing through my body, towards my womb…

Sage’s lips brush the side of my head. “Are you all right?” he asks gently.

I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him. My mouth opens onto his, and his fingertips stroke my cheeks lovingly. “Are you kidding?” I murmur thickly between kisses. “I’ve never felt this good in my entire life.” He places his mouth on my neck, and I lean my head back as far as I can, allowing him to touch his lips to every part of my throat and shoulders. I can still feel him inside me, powerful and vibrating with life. “I hope they didn’t hear anything,” I add softly, nodding at the cell door.

“I don’t think they did,” he replies. “If they had, they’d be in here right now.”

A strange, sweet heaviness is sweeping through my limbs. “I’m so tired,” I whisper.

“Me too,” he sighs. “I guess we should rest. You need your sleep for the chess game tomorrow.” He doesn’t look at me as he says this.

Wearily, I reach up and turn his face back to me. His dark eyes shine with love and fear. “Even if I lose tomorrow, there’s still one saving grace,” I tell him.

“What’s that?”

I touch my forehead to his. “I won’t lose my virginity to Teasel,” I say simply. “I’ll have given it to someone that I chose. Someone that I loved.”

Sage half smiles and rolls away from me. I moan softly as he separates from me, his body slipping out from between my legs. We pull our clothes back on and he helps readjust my skirt. “I love you, Holly,” he says as he lies beside me on the blankets.

I snuggle into his chest. “Goodnight, my sweet Sage.”

“Goodnight.” He falls asleep almost immediately.

Just before I drift off, I hear footsteps coming down to the dungeon. Our guards’ coarse, drunken voices reach my ears through the heavy cell door. I suppose that Teasel and Bramble had been eating dinner while Sage and I had sex. They’re discussing the upcoming chess match.

“The Phoenix girl doesn’t know how skilled King Yew is at chess,” Teasel whispers gleefully, his voice slurred from alcohol. “No one’s ever beaten him in a game. He chose her just to have the pleasure of seeing her lose everything.”

“What fate has he decreed for her when she loses?” asks Bramble.

My heart pounds uncomfortably as Teasel gives the answer. “She will wed me,” he declares triumphantly. “Mark my words, Bramble, she’s as good as mine.”

Both guards laugh cruelly. I lie awake on Sage’s chest for a long time, absorbing this conversation, before finally drifting into an uneasy sleep.


	18. A Game of Chess

I awake on the morning of my chess match with King Yew feeling distinctly aggrieved. As I scarf down my meager bit of stale bread, I think about what’s at stake. If I lose, I’ll be stuck in Locrea forever and the other two champions killed. Then who will bring the ice rosemary back to Caerlon to heal King Dianthus? If our mission fails, it’ll not only mean our ruin, but the ruin of our country as well.

But how likely is it that I’ll win, when I’m playing against a master? I’m a decent chess player: after all, my father taught all the children in my family how to play on wintry nights, sitting by the fireplace. I play chess whenever I have a spare moment, but I’ve never played someone as good as King Yew sounds. I’ve got no choice, however, but to win the game.

After I eat, I reach through the bars of the door and tap Bramble on the shoulder. “Let’s go,” I mutter to him.

As he unlocks the door, Gwen and Sage get to their feet. “Be careful, Holly,” Gwen says, laying a clawed hand on my shoulder. “Our best hopes go with you.”

I nod, feeling fear rise like bile in my throat. I turn to look at Sage, and the memory of last night, of our sex, comes rushing back. Suddenly I’m very scared that our first time will also turn out to be our last.

He seems to be thinking along the same lines, for he holds me a bit longer than is strictly necessary. “Good luck, my love,” he whispers in my ear.

Emotion surges up inside my chest. I throw my head back and kiss him, and he returns it with feeling. I don’t particularly care who is watching or what they think. All that exists for me, all that can exist for me right now, is him…

Then a rough hand that I recognize as Teasel’s seizes me by the upper arm, breaking the moment. “Back away from my wife, boy,” he snarls, pulling me away.

“That confident she’s going to lose, are you?” Sage spits back, his long hands curling into fists. “You just wait.” Teasel laughs and leads me down the dungeon hall, and Bramble slams the cell door behind us. Just before we reach the stairs, I hear Sage cry out, “Holly, Holly, I love you…” I open my mouth to call back, but Teasel shunts me into the stairwell.

“ ‘Holly! Holly!’ ” he mocks in a horrible baby voice. “Your boyfriend will have a lot more to shout about when King Yew’s through with you, my lovely.” I refuse to rise to his bait, instead focusing on keeping my breathing slow and measured. I can’t let myself panic.

King Yew is waiting for me. A splendid wooden chessboard sits on the table before him, with the white pieces on his side. The pieces, as I see once I get closer, are made of shining ivory and black onyx. They’re beautifully carved: the knights’ manes and the kings’ and queens’ hair actually have tiny curls, and every piece has a face except for the rooks. Runes are carved around the bases of each piece. Feeling uneasy, I take my place behind the black pieces.

The Locrean king makes the first move: he delicately places the pawn in front of his king two squares ahead. I instantly see that he’s trying to gain control of the center of the board early. King Yew definitely has the advantage of going first, and a less skilled player might have no chance of seizing control. But I’ve got tricks up my sleeve, and I can easily turn things in my favor if I keep a cool head. I copy his move exactly, blocking his pawn.

He moves his queen out into the no-man’s land between our armies, and I know he’s going for the Queen’s Raid. That’s a surprisingly basic strategy for a supposed chess master. Carefully, I block him. I need to get my knights onto the board as soon as possible. They’re the pieces I use with the greatest ease and success.

The chess game progresses slowly. King Yew and I, to my great surprise, are evenly matched. When we reach a point of violent struggle involving a couple of pawns and a reckless bishop of the king’s, I worm my way out of it without losing too much. I can tell that this is unnerving to him: though his face is as calm and smooth as ever, his left hand is clenched in a fist on his knee. I hope that his dreadful temper will negatively affect his ability to think.

Another hour drags by. I keep ahead of the king by one or two steps, mainly with the assistance of my knights. He seems to have realized that the little black horses are my greatest assets, and turns his attention to attacking them relentlessly. Luckily for me, he’s indeed letting his temper get the best of him, becoming more and more careless with every piece he loses. He’s an impulsive player, ridding the board of any danger he spots as soon as possible, even when waiting would be smarter. Nevertheless, it comes as a serious blow when he finally captures one of my knights.

Gradually, the endgame draws near. As I consider my next move, I tally up what each of us has left. Aside from his king, King Yew still has three pawns, a bishop and a knight, and I’ve got two pawns, a rook and a knight. I have a tiny advantage over him, but what I really need is an extra piece. My best bet, then, is to try to get a new queen.

I push one of my pawns resolutely across the board, keeping him covered with the rook. King Yew spots the danger and foolishly sacrifices his knight to destroy the pawn. So, I switch to my last pawn. This time he makes it all the way across the board.

“Queen me,” I ask politely. Looking mutinous, King Yew replaces my pawn with the black queen.

I think carefully. I’m so close to winning, and the odds look good for me. Yet one little slip, one instance of dangerous overconfidence, could wreck the entire work. My country’s fate hangs on the fates of these tiny onyx and ivory statues. How strange. I relentlessly pursue the white king with my queen and knight, using my rook as a backup in case I lose one of the other pieces. Now King Yew’s face is an ugly, blotchy red, and he looks angrier than ever.

I’ve reached a state of semi-trance similar to the one I have whenever I read flames. Sage and Gwen feel miles away. The only world that exists for me now is the black and white one in front of me. “Check,” I whisper, moving my knight forward.

King Yew moves his king into a back rank. The optimal place for the white king to be is in a corner, so I push my queen toward him. “Check.”

The Locrean king actually lets out a roar of frustration. The placement of my queen, rook and knight is such that he has nowhere else to go but into a corner. Red-faced, fuming, he places the white king into the nearest corner. I feel a rush of triumph in my chest as I move my rook to threaten the white king for the last time.

“Checkmate,” I say, trying to keep my voice from trembling with happiness.

For a moment, I think that King Yew will pull out his sword and cleave my head in two. Then, to my surprise, he arranges his face into a smile and lays the white king down. “Congratulations, Holly Phoenix,” he says silkily. “You have won the ice rosemary, and freedom for yourself and the others.”

The atmosphere in the cell is jubilant. King Yew orders that we be given some proper food, and provides us with some kind of fish entrée, and Gwen is given a raw slab of beef. Everyone is so overjoyed that no one really notices when Teasel brings in a pale green paste for the bread. Gwen doesn’t eat bread, and I’m full to bursting with fish, but Sage helps himself to a couple of pieces. That paste makes me extremely uneasy, but I convince myself that it’s only something like crushed olives.

Later that night, after Gwen’s asleep and our guards are off duty for dinner, Sage and I have sex a second time. Even though our first time was good, it was nothing compared to this. The feeling of him lying inside me, filling me, the way he moves every time I do, sends so much pleasure coursing through my veins. Waves of it unfold softly within me, like the tendrils of a newborn corn stalk coming out of the earth, as I yield my body to him.

After it’s over, Sage holds me in his arms. “We truly belong to each other now,” he sighs, his lips brushing my cheek.

“Mmm-hmm,” I murmur. I can feel him shrinking inside me, and I cuddle him closer to me, stroking his dark hair. “We don’t have to be afraid of losing each other in the morning.”

“Or ever,” he whispers. “You’re a part of me, and I’m a part of you. And nothing can ever take that away from us.”

I nestle my head into his chest. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Holly,” he says softly. The two of us fall asleep in each other’s arms.

The next morning, we set out with bundles of ice rosemary in our rucksacks. King Yew even has the decency to return Sage’s sword, my whip and our daggers. He doesn’t, however, provide us with horses. I keep a careful eye on Sage, but he doesn’t seem to be exhibiting any odd changes after eating the green paste.

It’s when we reach the Fire Plains three days later that I realize the Locreans have used him to have one final reckoning.


	19. Poisoned

We’ve reached the edges of the Fire Plains when Sage starts acting funny. I know that something’s seriously wrong on our first night back on the Plains, when we decide to have sex again in one of the caves. His thrusts aren’t as powerful as they have been, and he needs to stop moving and catch his breath several times. Also, for the first time since we began a sexual relationship, he doesn’t come.

“I’m sorry, Holly,” he gasps, fifteen minutes of trying after my own coming. “I can’t…”

“Sage,” I murmur to him, alarmed by the anger and guilt slowly joining the disappointment in his eyes. “Sage, sweetheart, it’s all right. It’s okay.”

“I wanted you to feel good,” he mumbles. “But I can’t…I can’t do it…”

“Just being with you is enough to make me feel good. You know that,” I reply, kissing his face. “But I’m worried about you. We’ve never had a problem before. What’s wrong, love?”

He simply grimaces wearily and says, “I don’t know. I’m just so exhausted all of a sudden.”

“You should rest, then.” I roll away from him and pull my clothes back on. I can feel his eyes on me as both of us redress.

I join him on the cave floor, and he strokes my hair. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Sage,” I sigh impatiently, looking directly into his face, “you don’t have to apologize to me. It happens. Just get some rest, and maybe we can try again another night.” He nods and drifts off almost immediately. His sleep that night seems much heavier than normal, and I have quite a difficult time rousing him the next morning.

Sage’s tiredness only gets worse the closer we get to the Ring of Fire and the dragons’ territory. It’s soon augmented with weakness: even carrying his own rucksack has become too much for him to do. Gwen and I occasionally have to sling one of his arms around our shoulders and help him keep walking. We have to stop to rest far more often than we did on the way to Locrea, and by the time we’re on the outside of the Ring of Fire he’s started having muscle aches too. I give him what few herbs I recognize from the rocks, but they don’t help.

Five nights after we left King Yew’s castle, I put down the drawing of a scrawny Fire Plains bush that I’m attempting. I’m so preoccupied about Sage that my hand and brain aren’t working properly. “We’ll have to stop at King Arthyr’s again, Gwen,” I whisper, glancing at Sage. He’s sleeping so heavily that he looks almost as if he’s dead. As I glance at him, I see that his skin looks a little pale by the firelight. “This can’t be leftover from the torture. Both you and I are fine.”

Gwen stares down at her hands, which are clasped in her lap. Her green wings, crisscrossed with scars from the torture chamber, rustle fitfully. “Holly,” she says slowly, “I don’t know if we can help Sage.”

My heart skips a beat. “What do you mean?” When she doesn’t answer, I say, “Tell me what you think is wrong with him.”

She raises a tortured face. “He’s been poisoned,” she whispers over the crackling of the dying fire.

Horror sweeps through my veins faster than a tidal wave. Something inside me is falling swiftly and painfully away, leaving a hole that I can’t bear to examine. “What?” I gasp. “Gwen, are you sure?”

“Yes,” she chokes, closing her yellow eyes. “I recognize these symptoms he’s having. I think he’s eaten…oh, Holly…I think he’s eaten bloodbane.”

I let out a little moan and put my head in my hands. Bloodbane is the most dangerous plant that grows in either Caerlon or Locrea. It gradually attacks the red blood cells of those who eat it, slowly poisoning their blood until no healthy blood remains in their bodies. The paste that Teasel brought us must’ve been made from the crushed leaves. Really, it’s the perfect vengeance for my escape from marrying him. There’s no cure that I know of, so it’ll be slow torture for me to watch Sage waste away and die.

Tears spring up in my eyes, but I brush them away impatiently. “Isn’t there anything we can do?” I ask Gwen, my voice trembling.

“Not that I know of,” she replies softly. “I don’t think the dragons will be able to help us either. The only thing we can do is get him back to Caerlon so we can bury him.”

I shudder, and I can’t prevent a sob from escaping my throat. She pats me on the shoulder and murmurs, “I’m so sorry, Holly. I know that you and Sage…well…”

In spite of the horrible situation, I smile a bit. “You mean to say that you know we’ve had sex?” I ask, trying to tease.

Gwen blushes a little, but she also grins. It’s a very strained grin. “You should know by now that not many things escape my notice. Particularly not things of such magnitude as a friend pursuing her first sexual relationship.”

For one, wild, wonderful moment, I almost laugh. Then I pose the question I don’t want to ask, but that I need to know. “How long?”

She glances at Sage. “Maybe a little less than two weeks.” She pauses. “We can ask King Arthyr if one or two of the dragons will bring us back home. They can fly much faster than we could ever walk.” After another small pause, she says softly, “I’ll keep watch tonight. You get some rest.”

I nod and lie beside Sage. His breathing is harsher and more ragged than before. I close my eyes and huddle closer to him, grasping his relaxed hand. Silently, I cry for him until I can cry no more and exhaustion carries me into sleep.

The next morning, we enter the foothills of the Ring of Fire. A green dragon swoops down upon us almost immediately, but when it recognizes Gwen it lands and bows deeply. “Princess Gwennyvirah, I see you are back from Locrea,” it rumbles. It’s Igrayne, one of the dragons that picked us up before.

“Yes,” says Gwen, adjusting Sage’s arm around her shoulders, “and we need help. Please take us to King Arthyr as fast as you can.”

Igrayne nods, and she picks Sage and me up. Gwen flies beside us as we hurtle over the harsh landscape and to the main hall. When we land and Igrayne releases us, I let Sage lean heavily on me. As we enter the hall and bow to King Arthyr, he says, “Welcome back, Princess Gwennyvirah! What can we do for you?”

I speak first. “Our friend Sage Langerfelt has eaten something bad,” I pant, struggling to keep him standing. Gwen helps support him. “Do you have a healer who can help him?”

King Arthyr roars, “Morgayne!” The one red dragon in the hall moves forward, blinking at us in a friendly way with her wide yellow eyes. “Examine the boy. The rest of you, please leave us.” All of the other dragons attending the meeting leave.

Morgayne the red dragon bends over Sage. Tenderly she touches his head with the end of her great snout, careful not to let the golden spikes fringing her head stab him. She does the same thing to his chest, evidently feeling his heartbeat. She’s whispering in the guttural dragon language, and I know that she’s using spells. Nothing, however, seems to make any difference to his condition. He simply says faintly, “So what’s wrong with me?”

Morgayne looks sadly at Gwen and me. “He has been poisoned with bloodbane,” she murmurs. “I am afraid that there is nothing I can do for him.” I was prepared to hear that, but preparedness doesn’t make the situation any better. I close my eyes, willing the nightmare I’ve fallen into to end now.

King Arthyr and Gwen are talking in low voices, making decisions. I can take no interest in their conversation. All I care about, all I can think about is the ragged breathing of my lover, my friend, beside me. Sage is going to die, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

Gwen touches my arm. “Holly?” she says softly. “Two dragons called Elayne and Lancelyt are going to fly us back to Caerlon. King Arthyr says it should take about nine days. Is that all right with you?”

I nod automatically. Morgayne looks at me for a long moment before saying, “I have some herbs that will ease his symptoms somewhat. If you wish, I can show you what to do with them and tell you what to expect.”

“Thank you,” I manage. I follow Morgayne into a side cavern off of the main hall that is filled with herbs and poultices in stone bowls. I listen, hard as it is to hear, as she supplies me with all of the necessary herbs.

“He’ll be turning paler over the next few days, because his red blood cells are being attacked,” she says quietly, not looking at me. “He will vomit almost anything he eats, but here’s a mixture that he should be able to keep down. There will be a lot of blood.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, half afraid of the answer.

“He’s going to cough it up. Here is another poultice to help cut down on his blood loss, and some poppy seeds to ease his pain and make him sleep.” Morgayne presses two more objects into my hands, a packet of tiny black seeds and a small tub of reddish-brown paste.

I thank her and turn to go. “Wait,” she commands, and I face her again. There’s an odd expression on her face, a mixture of curiosity and pity. “The boy will die. You are aware of that, I hope?”

“Yes,” I whisper. I remember the last night we spent in the cell: his laughter and dark eyes, the feel of his young life within me, his promise that nothing can ever separate us now that we’ve had sex. The words sound so empty now. The cavern swims in my vision and I stare at the stone ceiling, willing myself not to break down in front of the dragon healer.

Morgayne touches her snout to my cheek. I figure this gesture must be the dragon equivalent of an arm around the shoulders. “I am truly sorry,” she says. “Nothing is more painful than seeing a loved one slowly fade from life.”

I blink. Am I that obvious? Morgayne seems to know what I’m thinking. “You love him very deeply, so deeply that you would be willing to die for him. Love as strong and pure as that leaves a certain mark upon people. You, young one, have the mark written all over you.”

“I could’ve stopped it.” The thought that’s been nested in my head, gnawing at my insides, finally escapes. “When we were in the dungeon in the Langerfelt castle, and they brought our food, they gave us a light green paste for the bread. Only Sage ate it. I should’ve stopped him. Then he wouldn’t be…” My guilt climbs up my throat until I’m choking with the effort of not letting it come out in a wail of despair. Then my resolve breaks completely. “It’s my fault. He’s dying, and it’s all my fault,” I sob, my voice echoing around the cave.

“How could you have known that the paste was dangerous? Do not blame yourself,” Morgayne says, gently but firmly. “Guilt only makes the suffering worse for all of you.” She gives me a push with her snout. “Elayne and Lancelyt are waiting for you. I am sorry I cannot be of more help.”

“You’ve been a great help to me,” I whisper, cursing my moment of weakness as I dry my eyes. I secure the small pile of poultices and herbs in my arms. “Thank you for everything you’ve done, Morgayne.”

“Godspeed, young one,” the red dragon murmurs, and I leave her cave. Outside the main hall stand two more dragons, a blue one and a white one. A piece of deer hide is slung between them, tied around their bodies just before the wing joints with heavy twine. Sage is lying on the hide, his face even paler than when we arrived. He smiles at me, but I can’t return it.

“Climb on,” growls Elayne, the blue dragon. I clamber up at the base of her neck and cling to one of the great silver spikes protruding from it. The two dragons and Gwen spread their wings, and we all shoot upward with a leathery whoosh. As the wind catches my hair and whips it back, my family crest necklace blowing with it, one somewhat comforting thought enters my mind. Soon this long and dangerous journey will be over, and I can return to my family in Caerlon.


	20. The Blood is the Life

We leave the Fire Plains in a matter of days. Each night, Elayne and Lancelyt land so that everyone can get some sleep. I love the feeling of weightlessness and sense of freedom that flying on Elayne’s back gives me. But even the rushing of the wind doesn’t blow away the terrible circumstance hanging over all of our heads.

As Morgayne told me it would, Sage’s condition is growing steadily worse. The tiredness he suffered at the beginning of the poisoning has disappeared, only to be replaced with violent vomiting. The intensity of it stops him from sleeping normally. I stay by his side day and night, forcing down the food poultice that Morgayne gave me and lacing it with the tiny black poppy seeds. Those seeds are his only escape into sleep.

We’ve just passed Ramona Falls when the blood loss starts. It’s small amounts at first, just a hint of red in the bile. But I know it’s only going to get worse, and I start giving Sage the blood loss preventative. As we fly over the great savanna, the dry grasses waving mournfully below us, the amount of red in the vomit increases sharply. He’s quickly growing weaker and paler from the blood loss, and now he spends a lot of his time sleeping. To keep myself from thinking about what will happen to him very soon, I do more drawings of our surroundings: a sunset over the forest, Gwen flying next to Lancelyt, the food poultice and poppy seeds side by side, blood spatters on the deer hide from Sage’s vomiting fits.

One night, five days after leaving the Ring of Fire, we all decide to camp underneath one of the few trees on the savanna. As the winds are particularly ferocious, Lancelyt and Elayne spread their wings over their own heads and us. It’s a lot like being inside of a great blue and white tent. Everyone’s asleep except for Sage and me. He’s just taken the blood loss preventative again, so his vomiting is at bay for the moment.

As I’m putting the finishing touches on the drawing of bloody vomit, I see him glance at me by the light of the dying fire. With heartbreak I notice that the Mark of the Traitor stands out even more clearly against his deathly pale skin. “Holly?” he whispers.

I put down my sketchpad and move to sit next to him, grasping his hand. His skin is icy. “Yes?”

His brown eyes, sunken into dark shadows in his face, meet mine with great intensity. “You still haven’t told me what Morgayne said to you in her cave,” he says. “I know she said I’ve been poisoned, but what does bloodbane do? Lungwort showed me things about basic healing herbs, but he never said anything about that one.”

I swallow. Some small part of me had known this would come up, known that Sage would want to understand what’s making him so sick. But I didn’t expect the task of letting him know the awful truth to fall on me. I open my mouth, but words don’t want to come out.

“I’m going to die.” It’s not a question. His expression is unreadable as he looks at me. I can’t bear to confirm the fact, partly because it’ll feel more real if I say it aloud. When I don’t say anything, he squeezes my hand with as much strength as he can muster and murmurs, “Answer me, Holly.”

“Oh, Sage…” I look away. I don’t want him to see that I’m crying. “Yes,” I force myself to whisper.

“Come here,” he says gently. I obey, laying my head on his shoulder and my arm across his chest, and my tears stain the fabric of his shirt. The thought that this is one of the last nights I’ll ever share with him feels like a dagger stabbing me in the heart. I would ask him to have sex with me again, to claim me as his one last time before I lose him forever, but I know that his weakened body could never handle it. If he wasn’t quite strong enough the last time we tried, he certainly isn’t strong enough now.

“I’m not scared,” he says softly to me, breaking this series of miserable thoughts.

“I have a hard time believing that,” I mutter, my voice muffled by his shirt.

“Truly, I’m not,” he sighs. His voice is remarkably steady for someone who’s just found out he’s going to die. “Just sad that I have to leave you so soon.”

“You won’t be leaving me.” The words flow easily from my mouth. He looks surprised and confused when I reach up and touch his pale face. “Do you really think that I’m going to let you go wherever alone?”

“So you’re saying you’re planning to kill yourself after I die,” he says.

“Yes,” I say simply. A shiver of terror goes through me at the thought. What will it feel like to die? Will it hurt? But after all he and I have been through together, existing without him would be unbearable.

“Holly, no.” Sage is sitting up as straight as possible, his eyes alight with an energy I haven’t seen in them since before our capture at the Langerfelt castle. “What good will it do? You have a family that needs you. Anyway, you committing suicide won’t bring me back.”

When I don’t answer, he places both hands on my face and makes me look directly at him. “Holly,” he says in a low, fierce voice, “swear to me that you won’t do it.”

“But I can’t live without you,” I whisper, tears blurring my vision. “I can’t, Sage. What’s the point of staying in this world if I know now that I can’t?”

“Holly, please,” he begs, and he sounds close to crying himself. “If you won’t stay alive for yourself, do it for your family. Now swear to me that you won’t kill yourself.”

“Sage – ”

_“Swear it.” ___

As I look into his dark, wet eyes, his desperate face, I realize that I don’t have the heart to argue with him. “All right,” I relent.

He nods, and then he lays his head on my shoulder and I caress him tenderly. We lie in the grass, kissing softly. Even this small movement is too much for him, for he breaks away from me and rests his head on my chest, sighing with exhaustion. How I wish that he was strong enough to even attempt having sex again, one last time…and I know that he wants it just as much as I do. Then I feel his whole body shudder, and he rolls away from me just as he gives a huge heave. Blood spatters the grass, but the preventative seems to be doing its job: there’s not nearly as much as usual.

“You need sleep,” I say quietly, pushing myself back into a sitting position. I press more poppy seeds into his hand, and he swallows them whole. Within moments he’s asleep, his head in my lap. I stroke his hair, letting myself give in to weeping. Why try to stop it? Thunder rolls overhead, and I hear rain hitting the two dragons’ wings and the grass all around us. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I think that even nature is grieving with me.

Longing for distraction, I open my sketchpad to the drawing I did of Sage in the dwarves’ home on the savanna. Usually I don’t look at my drawings, because they’re meant to be sold and I don’t want to get too attached to them. But these are different. They’re sketches for myself. My breath catches in my chest: the detail and shading on the drawing of Sage are so finely done, so beautiful and lifelike that I swear the drawing is breathing. Even though it’s black and white, it feels so alive that I would give anything to transfer that vitality to the Sage sleeping in my lap.

Feverishly, I turn to a new sheet near the back. This journey has inspired so many drawings that I’m almost out of paper. As the rain pours down around us, I do a second sketch of Sage asleep. I work until it’s completely finished, and then I compare the end result to the first drawing. The difference between the two is clear. While the first drawing vibrates with life, this second one feels flatter and more desolate, weighted down with death. As I look at the new sketch, a tear falls onto the drawing’s right eye and splatters, making the pencil lead run a bit.

Over the last four days of our journey, I get virtually no sleep. I stay up with Sage, keeping an eye on him as he worsens even further. Despite all of my best efforts, he only vomits more and more blood until he’s so weak that he can’t even lift his head. Two days before we arrive at the outskirts of Ramani, he starts coming down with dizzy spells. They’re so intense that all he can do is lie on the canvas, me holding him in my arms as he moans and shudders, until they pass. My greatest scare, however, comes when he faints the day before we’re scheduled to get back. I’m panicking and swearing that he’s dead until Gwen performs a mouth-to-mouth rescue measure and informs me that his heart is still beating.

At long last, Elayne and Lancelyt land in a large field outside of Ramani. Even with my terror for Sage and my exhaustion from lack of sleep, I can’t help but feel my heart lift at the sight of the familiar farmland and city in the distance.

“I’ll find Elder immediately,” Gwen volunteers, and she flies toward the city faster than I’ve ever seen her fly. Sage has passed out again, and I hold his limp hand, trying to rub some life back into the cold fingers as we wait.

About twenty minutes later, she reappears with Elder galloping under her. He skids to a halt and dismounts next to the two dragons. “Thank you both for bringing the champions back,” he says to them, folding his hands against his chest in a gesture of blessing. “May I ask your names?”

“Elayne,” says the blue dragon, “and this is Lancelyt.”

“Elayne, Lancelyt, you are free to remain in Caerlon as long as you wish,” Elder tells them. Turning to me, he says, “Gwennyvirah told me that you got the ice rosemary. Caerlon will be forever in your debt.

“She also told me,” he goes on in a rush, “that Sage Langerfelt has swallowed bloodbane. How advanced is the poisoning?”

“Pretty advanced, I’d say,” I reply softly, fighting the whine of panic in the back of my brain. “He started passing out yesterday.”

Elder’s brow furrows. “That is advanced indeed,” he says seriously, bending over Sage. “Bloodbane poisoning has eight stages, ending with death. Dizzy spells and fainting are the sixth stage. How many days ago did he eat the leaves, do you remember?”

“Thirteen,” I reply. He sighs, and I go on. “I know he’s going to die. Gwen and Morgayne, the dragon healer, both told me.”

“Well…” Elder licks his lips. He seems to be doing some very hard thinking. “There is one cure,” he says finally, and my and Gwen’s heads both snap up. “It may not be too late, even with the poisoning as far along as it is. But it will be difficult, and extremely dangerous for the other person it involves.”

“What is it?” I ask quickly, ignoring the last sentence. “What’s the treatment?”

He sighs again. “It involves giving the blood of another to Sage,” he says quietly. “The poison may be canceled out if healthy blood enters his body. Bloodbane cannot spread from one person’s bloodstream to another’s as, say, a virus can. For two people’s blood to be affected, they both need to eat the leaves.”

“Well, then, let’s go,” I say impatiently. “He’s getting closer to death the longer we stand here. I’ll be the donor, what’s a little blood more or less?”

“But that is my next point,” Elder cuts me off. “Holly, when bloodbane poisoning is this advanced, curing it requires much more than a little blood. You will have to give at least as much as he has lost. Very few attempts have been made, and no one has ever survived any of them!”

“I don’t care,” I say flatly. After the ordeals all three of us have been through, I’m much more willing to do risky things than I used to be. “I don’t care how much danger I put myself in. It’s certain that he’ll die without the treatment, but with it there’s a chance that he might live.”

“Why can’t I do it?” pipes up Gwen. “I have no family that will miss me if I die.”

Elder shakes his head. “You are half-dragon,” he replies. “He can only receive from a full-blooded human. The transfusion will not work if a half-breed gives the blood.”

“There,” I say. “No one in Caerlon cares if Sage dies except me and Gwen, and her blood won’t work. If I don’t donate, who will?” I gaze defiantly at Elder. “I love him. I’ll do anything to save him. Let me give him my blood.”

He considers me for a few moments. I don’t look away from the wrinkled old face, but stare evenly at him until he finally says, “On your head, be it. We shall take him to my main healing room and perform the procedure there. Gwennyvirah, would you kindly lay the boy across my saddle? Holly, you may ride behind me.” Both of us obey his commands, and we set off toward Ramani at a full gallop.

We reach King Dianthus’ palace in no time, where Elder quickly makes a potion out of the ice rosemary. All of us make a quick visit to the king to give him the potion, and then Elder leads us down a flight of stone steps, carrying Sage. I’m surprised that the old man has enough strength to lift Sage’s weight.

We end up in a large, brightly lit room with beds all along the walls. Elder deposits Sage onto the nearest bed, where he lays entirely still, eyes closed. “He has fallen into a coma,” Elder says, a hand on Sage’s neck feeling for a pulse. “It is the seventh stage of the poisoning. We must act quickly.

“But before we do anything, Holly,” he says sharply as I start to lie down on the bed next door to Sage’s, “you should go wash. It would not do for your blood to become contaminated during the procedure. There is a washroom just down the hall, first door on the left. I will prepare everything while you…er…tidy up.”

I hurtle back into the hall and through the door Elder mentioned. There’s a small white tub, made of marble, against the back wall. It has three taps: hot water, cold water and soap. A pile of fluffy light blue towels sits in a nearby corner. As fast as I can, I start filling the tub with water and soap. I turn around and catch sight of my reflection for the first time since our journey started.

My black hair is unwashed and unkempt. Weeks’ worth of dirt and grime stains my face, neck and arms. My blouse, which is the one I’d been wearing when we were captured in Locrea, is covered with reddish-brown handprints from when I wiped Sage and Gwen’s blood off of my hands. Rips and tatters in my also filthy skirt show where I used the cloth for healing rags. Dark circles shadow my green eyes. I strip down and look back in the mirror again. God, I’m so skinny…although I’ve certainly filled out since we left Locrea, I can still see some of my ribs and the bones in my neck. I sink into the warm bath, praying that my blood will be healthy enough to help Sage. I look anything but healthy right now.

It takes the better part of half an hour to scrub all of the filth from my body. I can’t make any improvements to my clothes, but I don’t care about that right now. Faster than lightning, I dry off and pull my clothes back on. I tear back to the healing room, my wet hair flapping pathetically behind me.

Elder appears ready. He has a silver knife, certain herbs, a bowl and a long, clear rubber tube between the two beds. Sage’s shirtsleeve is rolled up, exposing his forearm. I shudder at the sight of his white skin. Even Gwen isn’t that pale.

“Lie on your back next to him,” Elder says, and for the first time I hear his voice quaver. I obey, and he presses two poppy seeds into my hand. “Eat these. They will numb the pain, but the dosage isn’t strong enough to put you to sleep.” As I swallow the tiny seeds, he hands me one end of the tube. He then rubs a strong-smelling poultice on my wrist and on Sage’s forearm. It’s the blood loss reduction mixture that Morgayne gave me.

“When I make the cut, put that tube up to it immediately,” Elder tells me. “I will hold the other end to Sage and put a charm on both ends to seal it to your skin. Whatever you do, do not hesitate in putting the tube to your wrist.”

I nod dreamily. The poppy seeds are taking effect: I feel extremely calm and at peace, even though the one I love is dying beside me. He makes a small cut in Sage’s arm. I watch the blood streaming out of it as though it’s a mildly interesting show. The blood is thicker and darker than normal. The bloodbane must be clogging it. Elder holds his end of the tube to the cut and mutters two spells. The tube seals itself to Sage’s arm, and the cut stops bleeding.

Now he turns his blade on me. I look away as the dagger slashes my right wrist, but there’s no pain. As he instructed me, I put the tube over my cut before too much blood comes out. He mutters the sealing spell, and the clear rubber seems to melt into my arm. Then he snaps his fingers over my end of the tube, and the warm red liquid starts to flow of its own accord. I watch, transfixed, as my own blood travels up the rubber tube and floods into Sage’s body.

Elder is sprinkling a clear potion over him. “What’s that for?” I ask.

The wizard glances at me. “It is a special mixture that will make your blood spread evenly,” he replies in a monotone, as if he’s focusing so hard upon his task that his mouth is on autopilot. “Now, no more questions. The less you speak, the easier this will be.”

I fall silent, not wanting to complicate things now. The seconds tick by slowly, Elder monitoring the blood flow, Gwen sitting on a nearby chair. Her green wings rustle in the way that means she’s nervous. Sage’s face slowly takes on a healthier flush as my blood enters his veins.

Then I start feeling weak. I suppose my blood loss is starting to take its toll on me. The healing room now has a hazy glow, the lamps’ golden light blending into the surrounding white walls. My eyelids are becoming heavy, and every breath I take makes me dizzy. I hear Elder cursing softly as his shadowy form, fuzzy around the edges, bends over my outstretched arm.

_I’m dying, _I think vaguely._ I’ve lost too much blood and I’m going to die here._ I let out a little sigh and close my eyes, bidding a wordless goodbye to my family, Gwen and Sage.

Sage…will the amount of blood I’ve given be enough to cure him? I have to be alive to keep giving him my blood. If I die now, and he doesn’t have enough healthy blood in his system, both of us will die. No, I can’t let that happen.

So I think ferociously, _You must live. You must live. _I’m forcing myself, second by second, to stay alive for his sake. I remember his smile, his low and musical voice, his tender touch and kisses. I remember the three nights we had sex, how much both of us desired each other, how natural and right it was. Love flows through me so powerfully that I feel lightheaded. I won’t let him die.__

Red lights are winking at me from behind my closed eyelids. _Live. _As if from a great distance, I hear voices: Gwen’s human-dragon growl, the low rumble of Elder. I think I hear a soft moan from one of the two beds, but I have no idea if it’s Sage’s voice or my own._ Live._ The voices are fading in and out of my ears as if their owners are walking away from me and then closer again. _Live…live… ___

Then I sink into the blackness.


	21. The Mysteries of Love

A jumble of voices swims in and out of my ears. I can’t make out any particular words, nor can I tell whom the voices belong to. I can’t move, not even a finger or an eyelid. All I can do is lie here, wherever I am, which feels like a very warm and comfortable bed. For some reason, I’m so exhausted that I wonder why I haven’t drifted back off to sleep again.

Seeing as I’m paralyzed, I start amusing myself by taking in my surroundings as best as I can. There are blankets covering me, and they’re warm, but the hottest place is just above my stomach. From the light’s angle and heat, I can tell that I’m lying near a window, and that the sun’s been shining on me for a long time, so that means it’s late in the day. My right wrist is aching dully, just above my vein, and I suddenly remember the blood transfusion. For a few seconds I wonder how Sage fared, but thinking makes my head hurt so I quit.

I hear the soft rustle of robes nearby, and then Elder’s voice rises out of the jumble. He seems to be speaking from the end of a long tunnel. “She still appears unconscious, in spite of all my efforts. That’s four days now.”

With a rush of shock, I hear my father speak. “What does that mean?” he says, his voice cracked and strained. “Why are four days important?”

Elder sighs. “Because if a donor of blood to cure bloodbane poisoning has not awoken four days after the procedure, it means they are dead,” he replies harshly. He picks up my arm and lets it drop back onto my bed. “I am sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Phoenix. I have done everything in my power to save your daughter, but…” He pauses. “Every time this process has been undertaken, the donor has died. I warned Holly of this, and yet she still volunteered herself to save Sage.”

“She did, did she?” I shiver inside. I’ve never heard Mother sound so angry, so grief-stricken, not even the night before I left for Locrea. “And how do we know that the boy didn’t force her to do it?”

“I can disprove that,” says a fourth voice, and I recognize Gwen. She sounds like she has a bad head cold. “Holly and Sage were in love.”

“In love!” spits Rose’s hysterical voice. In my mind’s eye, I see tears streaming down my sister’s face. “Mother, Father, how do we know we can trust a half-breed like her? Maybe she was planning to eat Holly’s remains!”

“I do not lie, idiot girl,” Gwen growls. “I watched them throughout the entire journey. Both of them risked their lives multiple times to save each other. Believe me, nothing would have stopped Holly from giving Sage her blood.”

“I shall inform King Dianthus of what has happened,” Elder sighs. “Rest assured, Holly shall have a heroine’s funeral. I myself shall prepare her for burial, and your family will have all the support our king can give for the remainder of your lives.”

I can hear Valerian and Willow crying quietly by my feet, and I try to speak but nothing happens. Then I hear footsteps in the corridors outside, running full tilt towards the room I’m in. The door opens with a bang, and Elder says, “Ah, Sage, you are feeling strong enough to move around, then?”

Joy and relief flood through me faster than I can think. Sage is alive! He doesn’t answer Elder’s question. His voice, shrill and panicky, sounds loudly in the room. “Holly,” he stammers. “Where’s Holly? No one’s told me anything since I woke up, and I haven’t been able to get here to see her.”

“Calm yourself, Sage. You are still too weak to – ” Elder says, but Sage cuts the reprimand short.

“Don’t fool around with me, old man,” he snarls. “Let me see Holly. _Where is she?” ___

“Over here.” Elder’s voice has become surprisingly gentle. I hear him stand and walk over to Sage. My family moves to the side so that he can see me.

There’s a long silence. “No,” Sage gasps. “No – ”

“I am sorry, Sage Langerfelt,” says Elder. “She has not woken up since the procedure, and I am afraid she never will again.”

A terrible wail resounds through the room. No words come out of Sage’s mouth, only this wild, animal scream that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. His cries in the torture chamber back in Locrea were nothing compared to the noise he’s making now. He flings himself across me, knocking the wind out of me and making my bedsprings creak. His shoulders heave with sobs. A second cry like a dying animal escapes his throat, and I feel his long hands clutching desperately at my arms and face, searching for signs of life.

“Holly,” he moans in despair. “Oh, Holly, my beautiful Holly…” He starts covering my face and neck with kisses. I can feel his tears, hot and wet, trickling onto my skin and into my hair. Oh, if only I had enough strength to say something, anything!

_“Your _Holly?” Father roars, and I hear and feel him pull Sage away from me. “What cause have you to grieve for her, you filthy, dirt-veined Locrean? She’s not your daughter!”__

“I loved her as much as you did!” Sage shouts back, his voice cracking with sobs. “I loved her, I loved her…” He breaks down again, and comes back to my side. I feel him lay his head on my chest. “Oh, God,” he wails to no one in particular, “this is all my fault. Holly, can you ever forgive me? You’d still be alive if I hadn’t…” He can’t finish his sentence because he’s crying so hard. Gulping, he falls quiet, holding my hand.

I can’t stand this anymore. I’ve got to do something, try to move or speak, to put the people I love out of their misery. My fingers are almost too weak to move, but I force them to obey my brain’s commands. Very slowly, I squeeze Sage’s hand.

The weight of his head leaves my chest faster than a bolt of lightning. “What is it, boy?” snaps Mother.

“My hand,” he whispers. “She squeezed my hand.”

“What?” exclaims Elder. “Impossible. She can’t be alive, no donor has ever survived!”

But Sage isn’t giving up hope. His hands, warm with life, hold my face tenderly. “Holly?” he says, his lips close to mine. I can feel his fingertips shaking. “Can you hear me?”

I don’t think I’ve got enough strength to nod, so I try to speak. All that comes out, however, is a funny noise halfway between a sigh and a groan. Daisy, Willow, Rose and Mother all scream and start to cry too, and I even hear whimpers from Gwen’s direction. Sage falls back onto me, knocking the air out of me again, fresh tears shaking his entire body. Half crazy with relief, he starts kissing my face once more. “Holly, thank God,” he moans. “Thank God.”

“You had best be thanking God,” Elder says, his voice trembling as much as Sage’s had. “You’re looking at a miracle here.”

Slowly, I manage to open my eyes. I let them take in every face in the room: my parents, my brothers and sisters, Gwen, Elder and finally Sage. I drink them in hungrily, thinking that I’ll never get enough of looking at them. Each member of my family steps forward and grasps my hand or kisses me, and I feel tears in my own eyes.

Elder says it’ll take me two weeks to fully recover from my brush with death. My family, Sage and Gwen all keep me company. I give Mother her marriage band back, telling her how amazed I am that it survived everything it did. As I don’t have the strength to get out of bed and there’s nothing else to do, I tell everyone the story of our travels. Sage and Gwen help me tell the stories, and I sense that this, above all, is what makes my family accept that he and I really do love each other. When I describe how he had refused to reveal our mission’s purpose to King Yew, and how many times he almost gave his life to save mine, Mother and Father turn shocked and grateful faces to him. To amuse myself when I’m not telling stories, I do drawings of the hospital and of my family.

During my recovery, Elder gives me some wonderful and frightening news. As he was treating me after the transfusion, he found out that I’m pregnant. His magical powers allowed him to feel the baby. Sage and I spend much of our time alone together discussing it: what it’ll be, what we’re going to name it, which one of us it’ll look like. Personally, I’m hoping for a girl. Occasionally he strokes my belly while we’re talking, as if he’s imagining being able to feel our child moving within me. Every night, Sage slips into my bed and falls asleep there, holding me in his arms.

But there’s one thing that I can’t figure out. Elder said that every person who gave blood to cure bloodbane poisoning has died. Somehow, I survived. How did that happen?

About a week into my recovery, I find myself alone with Elder and Sage. My family had to go back to the farm to check on our corn and cattle, and Gwen said she wanted to go hunting. Elder has just given me my potion to help me get my strength back. I’ve been taking about six different potions a day ever since I woke up.

As he takes the goblet away, I say to him, “Elder, can I ask you something?”

“Of course. What is it you would like to know?”

“When we first got back to Caerlon, you told me that no one’s ever survived giving their blood to someone who’s eaten bloodbane,” I say. “But I did. It was close, but I lived. Do you maybe know why that happened?”

He frowns slightly, and I know he’s thinking. Neither Sage nor I break the silence. Finally he replies, “Your case is certainly unique. I believe there is only one explanation for what happened. What were you thinking about when the transfusion first started to take its toll on you?”

I glance at Sage, feeling a blush coming into my face. He smiles encouragingly at me. “I was thinking about you,” I say quietly to him. “I thought that if I died before you had enough of my blood, everything would’ve been a waste. So I just kept telling myself to stay alive. For you.”

Elder smiles. “That’s what I suspected happened,” he says. “It was your love for Sage that saved you. Had you not thought of him when you did, had you not been so determined to help him live, you would have died.”

“But how does that work?” Sage asks.

“Does anyone understand the mysteries of love?” sighs Elder. “You ask questions that are beyond even my comprehension, Sage Langerfelt. All I know is that it was love that saved her, and ultimately you.” He bustles away, leaving the two of us alone together and both more than a little confused.


	22. Heirs to the Throne

After I’ve fully recovered, I’m given a week at home with my family. None of us really talk about the mission or anything else that’s happened. I know I’m happy to go back to my normal life, after the ordeals we three champions went through. Things haven’t changed much. There are only two things that are different from when I left: our new horse Belladonna, a gift from King Dianthus, and Sage’s new presence in my home. For the sake of propriety, he sleeps on some spare blankets in our sitting room instead of with me. We do tell my parents that I’m pregnant, though, so it’s not a complete shock for them when I have the baby.

Five days after I leave Elder’s healing room, King Dianthus summons all the people in and around Ramani to the town square. The crowd is huge: everyone from the baker to the soldiers to all of the children tested for the mission is crowded into the square. Tonight, there is to be a celebration of our mission’s success, with food and music for all.

When the king summons the champions before him, a hush falls over the crowd. Sage, Gwen and I step forward, with Sage supporting me. He looks at me, beaming: three days ago, Elder tested me and found that the baby is indeed a girl. Since we know what it’s going to be now, we decided on a name in honor of our mission: Rosemary, with the middle name Gwennyvirah. Yesterday I gave Sage a gift, the first drawing I’ve done completely from my own imagination. The two of us sit in a bed together, with me holding a newborn baby girl in my arms. The family crest I saw in the fire floats above our heads.

Locrea’s ice rosemary worked on King Dianthus like nothing else had. He stands tall and appears in good spirits, spreading his arms wide as we walk towards him. We all bow, Gwen spreading her scarred green wings. He steps down from the podium and embraces each of us.

“My dear children,” he beams, and his voice carries through the quiet square. “I am forever in your debt. Without the ice rosemary that you all risked your lives to retrieve, I would have died. In recognition of what you have done, I name you Lady Holly Phoenix, Lady Gwennyvirah Kearney and Sir Sage Langerfelt, Knights of Caerlon.”

The crowd erupts into cheers. When they quiet, King Dianthus says, “And, in honor of her service to Caerlon, I shall bestow a family crest upon Gwennyvirah Kearney. Come forth.”

Gwen steps forward, shaking. King Dianthus takes a solid gold necklace out of his robe pocket. I stifle a gasp: before today, no one would have dreamed of giving a half-breed a crest at all, let alone a crest necklace made of solid gold. Dangling from the chain is a woman with a dragon wrapped around her body, the very crest that Gwen’s parents intended. She’s blinking back tears as the king fastens the chain around her neck and embraces her.

When he releases Gwen, he says, “One of you shall be named heir to my throne. Which of you played the largest role in the retrieval of the herb?”

Both Sage and Gwen look at me. “It was Holly, sir,” says Gwen, and Sage nods. “When we were captured in Locrea, King Yew offered to give us the ice rosemary and set us free if one of us won a game of chess against him. It was Holly who played, and it was she who won.”

The king nods and motions for me to kneel. I do, barely able to believe that this is happening. Am I, the simple daughter of a merchant, really about to be named heir to King Dianthus’ throne? He unsheathes the special golden-hilted sword used only for ceremonial purposes. “Very well,” he says warmly, and he rests the tip of the sword on my shoulder.

“Lady Holly Phoenix,” he rumbles, “you were prepared to sacrifice everything in service of me and Caerlon. It was your skill and courage that kept all of you alive during your imprisonment in Locrea. In the end, it was these qualities in you that led to my healing. All of us here, young and old, rich and poor, owe their futures to you.”

He taps each of my shoulders with the sword. “I hereby proclaim you Princess Holly Phoenix, heir to the throne of Caerlon. You may rise.” I get to my feet, trembling slightly as the crowd shakes the city walls with their cheers.

Sage moves forward and puts an arm around my waist. Everyone falls silent again as he says, “King Dianthus, I have something that I wish to ask you.”

“Anything, my dear boy,” the king replies.

“During our journey, Holly and I fell in love,” Sage says. “She also conceived my child, my daughter, over the course of the mission. There is nothing I wish more than to be with her for the remainder of my days.” He kneels in front of me, and I think I know what he’s going to ask. I’m right: he pulls a pair of marriage bands out of his pocket. They’re also made of gold and studded with brilliant blue sapphires. Attached to each bracelet is the crest from the fire and the drawing: a golden sword wrapped in finely carved vines of intertwined sage and holly, the emblem of our new family.

Beaming, Sage says, “I am asking Barley and Ginger Phoenix and King Dianthus for their blessings. Holly, will you marry me?”

Words fail me, so I throw myself headlong into his arms. Father steps out of the crowd and lets me take his arm so that he can give me away. As King Dianthus gives his royal blessing, Sage removes the bronze phoenix family crest from my neck, and I remove his eagle. He snaps one of the bands onto my left wrist. I take the other one and fasten it around his, and we kiss as the crowd roars its approval.

When we separate, Sage smiles and beckons with his head towards the palace, my family’s new home. He puts his arm back around my waist, and I place mine across the small of his back. His hand rests just above my womb, where our daughter Rosemary Gwennyvirah Langerfelt is growing. Side by side, we step through the door to our new lives as Prince Sage and Princess Holly Langerfelt: parents, a husband and wife, and heirs to the throne of Caerlon.


End file.
